Chains of Command
by brokencitydreams
Summary: A new face joins the ranks of Midgar's electric power company. The future is turbulent; with Sephiroth missing and the old president dead, ShinRa's young leader must navigate a complex, evolving relationship with his ambitious new general- m/m, politics, gore  ATTENTION: 'Chains' has been rebooted! Make sure to start from the beginning.
1. The Prince

_"Since it is necessary for the prince to use the ways of beasts, he should imitate the fox and the lion… it is important to be a fox in order to understand the snares, and a lion in order to terrify the wolves."-Machiavelli _

**The Prince**

"The president is dead."

This fragment of information rattled out from inside a hazardous chemical protection suit, amplified harshly through a set of speakers. Custodian 05, whose helmet was off despite regulations because he'd needed to vomit, heard the news unaided by his radio.

"Shit." He said, after wiping his mouth. Then, raising his suit's microphone to his lips, "Really?"

"That's what I heard from the guys upstairs."

"Holy… I mean, it's confirmed and everything?"

"Turks all over the goddamn place. Trying to keep it from getting out too soon, like that was the worst of their problems."

"Oh what the _fuck_. What a fucking disaster."

"You can say that again."

Custodian 05 leaned against the pipe of his disinfectant hose, surveying the stretch of hall still in front of him that waited to be sprayed down. It was lit by the dim green emergency lights that made human skin look ghostly and turned blood the color of crude oil. There was still quite a lot of blood marbling the floors.

"What do the upper levels look like?"

"Beat the hell up. But nothing like down here. Not up to our asses in SOLDIER guts, anyway."

Custodian 05 retched. A team up ahead of him was hosing the walls and trying to isolate sparking light fixtures. The fires had all been put out by now, the smoke soaked up by neutralizing gases. There wasn't enough mako in the lights to be much of a problem; but there was plenty of smoldering plastic and melted ceramic to warrant the chemical safety suits.

Long scars on the walls looked as if some enormous beast had run its claws along the interior of the hallway; and it might have been, given the rumors of what Shinra kept in its basements.

Teams had been finding _pieces_ of the Science Department staff so viciously mauled they could not be identified. In some ways the SOLDIERs had gotten off easy. Their slaughter had been quick and efficient, while the scientists had received the brunt of their attacker's malice. One level of the High Security Labs had clearly seen earth-materia action. It looked like a landslide, and it would take serious excavating equipment to free up.

"_Custodians, clear the area, move aside!_"

05 and his companion dodged to the edge of the hall, making way for a team of medics barreling down the passageway while trying not to slide on the floors slick with chemical wash. Between them they hauled a stretcher bearing a limp uniformed figure, unique in that he was not encased by a plastic body bag.

"Is that…?" 05 blinked.

"Probably the colonel."

The upper-floor crewman whistled, the shrill decrescendo distorted by his suit's filter. "There goes the hero of the day. Lucky son of a bitch."

"Lucky for _us_. How much worse would it be down here, if he hadn't been there?"

"I'm trying not to think about it."

Custodian 05 put his helmet back on with a grunt. "Well, at least someone'll get a raise out of this mess. Better him than me."

**.**

It went without saying that the colonel would be promoted.

SOLDIER needed a general; now, after this unforeseen and expensive tragedy, more than ever. He was young, certainly, but so had been his predecessor by traditional standards.

The decision was made while the colonel was still recovering in the hospital ward, unconscious and not in a condition to vote on the matter. The promotional ceremony itself was just a formality; in reality he had been acting as SOLDIER general for almost a year now, ever since his superior officer, Sephiroth, had vanished from his post at Nibelheim.

In Sephiroth's absence, the colonel had displayed a natural aptitude for leadership. He'd even come to the attention of the company president for his accomplishments concerning the terrorist group AVALANCHE.

Now, of course, the president was dead, and that was all the more reason to resolve the issue without delay.

Fortunately his promotion would be popular with the troops; the young commander had made quite a favorable impression with his single-handed defense of Floor 67. Without his efforts, Sephiroth would have raided the headquarters undetected, like a rabid wolf in a pen of drowsy sheep, and the body count would have soared uninhibited.

As it was, the only significant casualty of the evening had been the president of Shinra Inc., a loss that would probably be mourned by an exceedingly select minority- one that did NOT include his surviving heir-in-exile.

In the now-overflowing emergency care ward, a swarm of imposing figures merged into huddle of muttering and clicking footfalls. Clustered around a single recovery-unit, the primary Shinra Heads of Department resembled nothing so much as reluctant vultures.

Beneath the circle of pinched faces, the colonel's eyes were closed, his handsome face tranquil under an oxygen mask. The lapels of an indigo uniform hung open on his heavily bandaged chest, rising and falling so slowly it was scant indication he was still alive.

The heads of department nodded in mutual assurance. This was the only thing to be done. The hierarchy was in complete disarray; there was no one but themselves to finalize the decision.

And this would be a _good_ decision, at least for them.

The collective authority of Shinra looked forward to having a popular, idealistic, and above all _human_ replacement for Sephiroth. While undoubtedly a boon to the military and the key to Shinra's continuing monopoly abroad, Sephiroth had been altogether too troubling, too _alien_ and unmanageable for their tastes. Lying here was someone who they could all understand; someone who had come to power though the traditional means of nepotism and bribery. Not the child of strange science, but of a rich family from an even richer and more influential alliance of aristocrats, many of whom held stock in Shinra Electric Power.

The colonel was, to the best of their knowledge, a talented and good-looking figurehead, charismatic enough that he would put a good face on their operations and draw little fire from the public sector. He was gifted and competent, but not supernaturally so.

They might even be able to bully this one, and that thought was comforting.

Brigadier-General Heidegger exchanged looks with his more voluptuous counter-part, Chief Engineer Scarlet. The two of them shared a unique understanding and mutual ambition. They had been the only objectors to the young colonel's promotion. Heidegger had been perfectly willing to absorb the entire SOLDIER program into his own division, Public Safety and Defense, but Hojo would hear nothing of it, and his vote held more weight. The professor was conspicuously absent from the gathering, as he generally was from all staff meetings.

"What are you waiting for? Do it already!" jittered Director Palmer, perpetually manic and unpleasantly cheese-faced as always.

Heidegger turned his imposing bulk on the diminutive Director of Aeronautics and Space Exploration. "As if you had a damn thing to do with the workings of the military, or any other useful department! Stay out of business that doesn't concern you!"

"Shut up and get on with it." drawled Scarlet, pouring smoke out of her mouth with each syllable, ignoring protests from the head nurse. "The press is waiting for a statement from you upstairs and I don't want to be the one to tell them that Shinra Inc. has been _castrated_ as well as beheaded."

In the heated silence Heidegger bristled, but having no orderlies around to manhandle, he simply scowled and produced a red leather case from his pocket, opening it to reveal its gleaming contents.

The medal was gold, though its color was significantly washed out by the green-tinged lighting of the emergency ward. On its embossed face was a beautifully ornate lion's head, snarling in defiance of evil. Heidegger pinned it roughly to the unconscious hero's lapel. It sat well against the blue and white of his uniform. Somewhere inside the pin, a digital recognition occurred that was silently registered in a database in the lowermost floor of Shinra HQ. The deed was done.

The heads of department looked at each other, and then back to the unpolluted face of colonel Treize Khushrenada, now general, relieved to find nothing intimidating at all about his sleeping visage.

And this was a blessing, because it meant that they would have only _one_ threat to deal with this quarter, and that one thing was very, very worrying by itself: The return of the prodigal son.

**.**

* * *

Gold was the color of the clubroom ceiling, and gold was the color of every other checker tile on the floor. It was the color of the plates on which expensive food was served, and of the shimmering lamé that draped across the breasts of opportunistic women, and the chairs they sat on, and the rings on their arms and fingers, and the trim on the tablecloths, and the shining surface of the bar. The metal straw that was used to chime indelicately against the side of an empty wineglass was also gold, though the glass was unfortunately made of fine crystal, which cracked up one side and shattered into itself.

"Drinks! Drinks for all of you, my faithful and devoted throng of spineless, boring, harpies! You, who don't have the grace and ambition God gave a one-legged blind Chocobo; yes, you! My pestilent flock of idiots… Let me fund your hopefully fatal habits, so that I may be rid of your company sooner!"

A sloshy cheer of self-congratulation rose up from the ranks of party guests. The club owners cheered as well, aware that there was no damage to their property, staff, or customers that this offensive, boy-faced tycoon couldn't reimburse on the spot, as they had discovered over the months that he'd spent as the Gold Saucer's reigning prince.

Currently, the evening's darling was standing atop the bar counter in white patent leather shoes, scuffing the surface with the ease of one who has never had to clean scuff marks off of a polished surface and the impunity of one who can afford to ignore the complaints of those who do. With a seemingly bottomless supply of both Gil and bad humor, he had gained quite a following of perpetual socialites and boozers who were willing to put up with any kind of verbal abuse as long as they were entertained.

"Rufus, baby, you are _so_ drunk." Giggled a tall brunette escort with exaggerated curvature, tugging on the blonde man's sleeve. "This is the second time you've bought drinks for the house today."

"So? I can afford it. I can afford everything here."

The brunette licked her cherry-red lips and slid closer. "Does that excite you?"

"Not even remotely." Rufus slid heavily into his chair. "Just because something's expensive doesn't guarantee it's not cheap." He looked the woman in the eyes with casual viciousness, his own bloodshot and glassy.

The woman who'd courted his arm that week smiled with no humor, running her fingernail along the edge of the bar with a horrible, thin noise.

"Cute." She uncrossed her legs and stood, half a foot taller in heels than the Shinra heir. The young man hunched around his glass of vodka, his face frozen.

The escort tweaked his collar, faintly disgusted. "You never change out of this pretty white suit. You look like pigeon shit in cotton candy, baby. Spoiling all the fun." With that, she left him for greener and less abrasive pastures.

A giant chromed clock adorned with a kaleidoscope dial struck midnight, playing a carnival tune over the drone of intoxicated revelry and heavy dance music.

Rufus sprinted to the bottom of his glass and clutched his head. The peppy cacophony of arcade and bar noises offended him to his very core, as did the glitzy decor and unabashedly useless nature of the Gold Saucer itself. He hated literally every inch of its gilt mushroomoid structure, and yet he couldn't make himself leave. Where else was there for him to go?

He decided he wasn't nearly drunk enough yet to think about it.

It had been 43 hours and twenty-eight minutes since his last contact with Tseng. If he was drunk enough, he could stop himself from adding seconds to the tally. Tonight, even abusing the inebriated Saucer guests wasn't helping him keep his head together. Not enough.

The inactivity was killing him. He needed something to do, something _SHINRA_. He missed the congested heart-beat of the city, where the steel grind and enzyme juices of bloody, pulsing _life_ happened.

Total freedom had been his father's idea of a cure for willful youth and ambition; no responsibilities, constant parties, expensive cars, expensive women, unlimited allowance, political immunity, and all the trouble a rich boy with a pretty face could get up to… that was supposed to ensure he lost interest in a real company position.

With the disappearance of SOLDIER General Sephiroth, Rufus had gotten his hopes up. Surely, a blow to the company's security like that would mean a recalling of all available assets? A recalling of _him_? Could his father really afford to keep him away, at a time like this?

But apparently, the old man had never even considered it.

Loss of authority had been a long, painful slide for Rufus. At first, the unbearable nearness to his father had been made acceptable because as Vice President, he'd been allowed some modicum of actual power. But, oh, how he had stretched and pushed at the boundaries of that honorary position! When he'd inevitably become a nuisance to Shinra Sr. and his cronies, they'd shunted him to a corollary branch of Public Safety and Defense. It had chaffed at first, as the first of many such blows. But at least he'd been given control of the Turks stationed in Midgar. That had been a godsend.

There was a directness to that position that Rufus had grown to love. Observing the city from its streets, he'd see the faces that carried out his policies, and witnessed first hand the consequences of his orders; something he doubted his father had ever had to do.

The only adverse consequence Shinra Sr. had ever had to put up with as a result of his actions was his son.

The Turks had remained the locus of Rufus's world for several years, until once again overstepping some finicky territorial boundary of his progenitor's, he was exiled to Junon under the pretense of looking after the one, measly, salt-corroded mako reactor stationed there. And he had done his best- he'd been productive as hell, in fact. By the time he was finished, that reactor was processing enough mako to power a _real_ city, instead of a disgusting, folksy, backwater fishing village. Not that anyone appreciated his efforts.

But then had come the deathblow: an enormous Weapons Development project slated for Junon Harbor. Rufus had been out on his ear with a single phone call, stripped of his license, stripped of authority, denied access to all Midgar passcodes, robbed of the Turks... spat out. Left with nothing but a boiling, insatiable frustration with everything his father did and stood for.

Scarlet had watched as the newly-exiled VP walked onto the deck of his 'birthday present', a yacht bound for Costa Del Sol, from the window of the freshly vacated office.

_His_ office.

She'd smiled at him, a long cigarette holder between her manicured fingers. He would never forgive her for that.

When he'd grown sunburnt and tired of Costa del Sol, Rufus masochistically turned to the Gold Saucer, feeling drawn to it as a playboy graveyard. It was a place for him to stew in his own self-pity while he waited for any kind relief from the company; or until he died of misery in the tawdry embrace of the world's most glamorous, gold-plated shithole.

But he couldn't make himself give up on Shinra Inc.

Tseng, dependable, unsparing, eagle-eyed Tseng, had been sending the news and gossip and whatever else he could report from Midgar on a daily basis. Rufus had depended on those transcripts as if they were the only things supplying him with nourishment. They kept him alive. As long as he had information, he had hope.

But it had still been _six years_ of increasing disgrace, _two and a half years_ since he'd been home, a full year since he'd had any real influence in the company, nine years since his mother died, 25 years since his birth. _And 43 hours, thirty-one minutes, and four seconds since my last contact with Tseng. _

Rufus took a long drag on a cigarette and put it out in the drink of his neighbor. Then he ordered a bottle of vodka.

Fuck it. Today, he would kill himself. He would take a shotgun to each and every singing asshole in a moogle costume, every clown, every gold-digger, every arcade geek, and every John wearing a glittery tuxedo, and then he'd leap off the tallest balcony into the desert below. Slumped over the counter, Rufus barely had the willpower to lift his shot glass. He stared at its contents instead, swirling the transparent liquid around the bottom of the glass, wishing he could somehow drown in it.

"Fu-Ru-fy…" there was suddenly a bleach-blonde female at his elbow, wearing a pink headband with bobbling antenna. "We miss youuu Little Prez… Come over to our table and be angry. My friends and I…" She giggled in a vaguely pornographic way, "We're out of drinks…"

At that second, Rufus's phone buzzed in his pocket. His hand was on it like a cowboy in a quickdraw contest, eyes suddenly crystal clear and knife sharp.

The bleach-blonde waited for him to finish, checking her nails as distractingly as she could. But the Shinra heir was a million miles away, staring into the distance with a sleek, weightless phone pressed into the palm of his fingerless-glove. There was something unsettlingly still about him, as if he'd been replaced with an identical carving of himself.

The cellphone snapped closed again with a minimal flick of the man's wrist. The blonde looked up, lips puckered and expectant. "I hope that wasn't a girlfriend, Rufy. You know I only like single m-"

She finished with a startled shriek; this was because a full tumbler of vodka had just been coolly and deliberately poured over the front of her dress. Blinking, she dripped in stunned, drunken silence.

The empty glass was tossed carelessly over Rufus's shoulder, where it shattered at the feet of several other yelping guests. The blonde socialite sputtered, a profanity burning on her tongue that never emerged. The room was now uncharacteristically hushed, and a chilly half-smile formed like rime on Rufus's lips.

"Buy your own damn drinks." He said, addressing the whole club. Turning his back on the room, a bright yellow 30,000 Gil Lifetime Gold Saucer Pass flicked out behind him as if it were a candy wrapper.

The Shinra heir stepped out onto the balcony and walked over to the rail, where love-birds were admiring the endless display of fireworks and the bright desert stars. A moment later, one such star-gazer burst forth with a strangled scream, eyes fixed below the protective railway of the promenade.

Chaos broke loose as more eyes followed in the same direction, and a comical stampede of terrified, wind-tossed patrons, overturned tables, and broken glassware exploded around the lone standing figure, whose platinum hair whipped in the swirling wind as a helicopter landed amidst the debris.

A red and white diamond was emblazoned on the hull, obscured by an impish face that peered out of the open hatch door; a pair of goggles reflected the bright cascades of fireworks from atop their owner's head.

"'Ey Boss. Long time no see."

Rufus nodded in greeting. "Reno."

"We're here to escort you back to Midgar… _Mr. President_."

The new CEO of Shinra Electric Power Company felt his shoulders shake with barely contained elation. He stepped onto the helicopter, and allowed himself a chilly, triumphant laugh.

He was going home.


	2. Gift Horses

"Yet there was a planet dancing in my mind

With a gold seed of Folly… long ago…_"_

–_Edith Sitwell_

**Gift Horses**

The man in the cot dreams.

In sleeping, his mind is restless; his dream-self is a sleepwalker, leading him numbly backwards through the corridor of his memories. As his body lies dormant in a curtained hospital room, he remembers the wounds that put him there, and the ogres of his past naivety that had made them so inescapable.

He dreams of silver and fire.

_ "Commander? What are you doing here?"_

_ General Sephiroth did not turn to face the young officer addressing him. From behind he was a stripe of black leather and long, straight line the color of mercury. The only acknowledgement he gave was a slight inclination of his head. _

_ The young officer eyed his superior, sizing him up as he would a wild dog. When his query was not answered, he sidestepped cautiously to an alarm panel and struck the button, calling whatever soldiers were on duty to the floor. When they came an instant later, they fell clacking into formation around him, faceless in their identical helmets, standard-issue weapons at the ready. Among them, he was the only 1st class SOLDIER. _

_ "I'm sorry to do this to you. I don't pretend to know your reasons, but at least tell me why you are here." The officer pleaded, his Mako-eyes glowing in the dim light. _

_ The troops around him shifted uneasily. "Colonel Treize, are we to attack the general?" One asked, reluctant, but ready to obey. _

_ "Let him answer first." The colonel responded quietly, not looking away from his former commander. "Sir- Tell me why are you infiltrating Shinra Headquarters, or I will detain you."_

_ Slowly, the long tempered edge of the general's sword, Masamune, rose glittering into view. No one but the general could wield such a blade; it reminded all present how futile a fight would be against its owner._

_ After a long and dreadful pause, Sephiroth answered. "I will not let you have the Promised Land." He intoned, deep voice sepulcher. "The Shinra are worthy of neither its light, nor its glory." _

_ "I'm inclined to agree… You know I don't embrace Shinra's methods. But surely, sir, this is a matter we can discuss? Bring your grievances to the president. There is no need for violence." The colonel extended a hand, hopeful. _

_ The long sword twitched. "I have nothing to say to that fool. There is no room on this planet for weak barbarians of his ilk." The general's shoulders shook with soft, threatening laughter. "And how will he discuss anything now, without a tongue? The true ruler of this planet has returned… all humanity is redundant. I have no use for such troublesome parasites."_

_ Cold realization broke over the colonel, sending an unwelcome shiver down his spine. "Sephiroth, what on earth has happened to you?" He stepped forward; unsure if the thing in front of was even the same man he'd followed. "One cannot condemn all humanity because of the actions of a few. I know you to be a reasonable man, but that is the reasoning of a fanatic." _

_ Sephiroth turned, his eyes flashing briefly with old recognition, a flicker of returning sanity. "…When I still thought myself human, I would have agreed with you, my friend. But you cannot imagine what I have become since…" Masamune raised in his tensed hand. "My quarrel is not with you, Treize. But if you stand in my way, I will kill you along with the rest of these useless apes." _

_ "I have seen you decimate an army single-handedly. I know what you are capable of doing here, to these men and the others in the building. You could kill me easily. But I will not stand by if you are set on destroying innocent lives." Treize drew his thin-bladed sword in a single, quick motion. "If you must fight anyone, fight me. I challenge you to a duel- if you are victorious, please accept the surrender of my defeated men." _

_ Sephiroth rolled his head back and laughed, long and insolently._

"_A duel! You haven't changed. Still the same martyr to chivalry…" His sharp, acid-green gaze turned on the regiment, full of bloody promise. _

_ "Let me show you how much your chivalry means in the face of the apocalypse." _

_ Two consecutive blows as merciless as hammer falls crushed the armored men standing on either side of the colonel, their helmets cracking. Without a blink the rabid sword recoiled and another soldier was flung into the wall, crumpling like a broken toy. The remaining troops opened fire in a panic, falling back in disarray. _

_ Treize lunged, throwing himself in front of one of the recruits in time to catch Masamune on his saber. "No!" There was real fear there, in the proud blue eyes; men were dead, more men yet would die, and as steel met steel he found himself pleading. "Please—Sephiroth, don't do this!" _

_ The general leaned over their crossed swords and barred his teeth like an animal in the young colonel's face. It was a smile._

_ Treize was thrown against the wall with force enough that his skull rebounded from the sheetrock with a crunch. _

_ A young and shaking recruit was backed scrambling onto a flight of stairs, too terrified to run. A second later his head bounced down the steps under a spray of crimson. Without bothering to look, Sephiroth extended his hand and the remaining SOLDIER forces became incendiaries; their shrill screams dying out in the sputter of flames. _

_ "Your men light like candles..." Sephiroth said with something like a giggle. "Look how well their honor served them!" _

_ From the floor, Treize propped himself up with one arm, blood running into his eyes. His pupils were contracted to feral needle-points of desperation. _

_ He drew himself growling to his feet, and charged. The lithe saber arced three times in quick succession, one stroke cutting a thick crescent down the ex-general's torso. Sephiroth grunted, then parried the colonel's sword and shattered it. Undeterred, Treize darted and dove like an arrow, momentum carrying him into his enemy, the broken blade of his saber plunging towards Sephiroth's heart in a wild fleche. _

_ In a move too quick for the eye to follow, Sephiroth sidestepped the blow, caught the officer across his midriff with a vicious jab of Masamune's hilt. The smaller man choked violently, doubling over, blood dripping from his mouth. His blue eyes were frozen wide with shock._

_ Grabbing a handful of auburn hair, Sephiroth wrenched Treize upright and caught his throat in one black-gloved hand. His fingers constricted with the sound of leather creaking. _

_ "I wish for you to see the day of cataclysm, my apotheosis, before you die." He whispered, full of lust and power. "You amuse me, Treize. When I ascend to the heavens with this planet's husk as my throne, I will save a jester's seat for you…" And he said something in the man's ear that was lost to all but the two of them. _

_ Treize slid to the ground, a thin cry of pain leaving him before all light vanished._

* * *

The memory passes; the corridor continues, bringing him farther along in his own private purgatory.

_ A child of vague philosophies and heady glory-dreams must either purge the dross from his intentions or become a smudge of smoke issuing from the crucible_— that was a truth he'd learned long ago, when he was a boy still twisting over the fire of his own awakening.

Another window in the corridor opens. He remembers the beginning of the road that would lead him, unrelenting, to the fire and the wounds and the cot in the hospital ward…

He'd come to SOLDIER convinced of his own brilliance; still in love with his own talents, his clever brain, the endless horizon that lay coaxing before him. He'd meant to rise on an effortless zephyr, to clutch the sun in his hands and bite it like a great gold apple. Surely he was a young god, surely all the world's treasures were but waiting for him to reach out and seize them, surely he could do no wrong.

As a boy he'd known he'd wanted to make a difference to the world, to rid it of evils until it was safe and beautiful and a worthy place for the people he'd painted on his miniscule shield. He wished to bring pride to his family. It was an easy wish, for he knew he could not fail. In his world, desires were always met in this way: he had no need to stretch himself, for nothing in his life was out of reach. He'd imagined himself tall for having lived life in a doll's house.

He was fifteen when he'd joined the program, a bright rising star of the Foundation. Shinra's SOLDIER program had been unfurled at precisely the right light and angle to attract the aristocratic sentiments of his family; both prestigious and exclusive, they were told, the program offered the most opportunity for advancement to talented young cadets with an aptitude for militaristic thought.

Shinra's promise was to turn all brave little cubs into war heroes, roaring and golden. Those who were strong, clever, and inspired would go far, and naturally most parents thought their child was a paradigm of these descriptors. His uncle had been no exception; the old grey tiger had been a prestigious military figure in the first Wutai War and he expected no less from his nephew, the heir of the Catalonia Estate.

He could imagine no greater glory than to follow in the footsteps of heroes, to become a hero himself. Like many boys his age he had pinned his ambiguous ambitions on a particular face: the SOLDIER General, Sephiroth.

_ "You're a lucky boy, you know," the doctor had said to him, patting his back as he signed his consent to being held in a treatment center for a full month of decontamination. "The facilities are full up. We're not accepting any more recruits after you. I hope you know what a privilege this is."_

That had been the first lie.

_ His first night in the quarantine dormitory, he lay awake thinking of home; how his father had seemed relieved that his son—his otherwise soft-spoken, philosophical, aesthetically conscious son- had finally showed an interest in pursuing a military career. He'd sent a memo, the last he would hear of the outside world for a long time: _

_ "I can't tell you how proud I am. Any father would be, I suppose. This is a troubled era we live in; the world's forgotten all sense of order. There's no respect for tradition amongst the new generation, and money seems to have the final word in any discussion of modern politics. But as a soldier, and I trust, an officer, you will help to restore balance where it's long overdue."_

Another, more treacherous, lie.

_ He thought how his mother had pressed him before he left, insisting he wear his best grey silk shirt and embroidered vest, in order to make a favorable impression. He'd hated the clothes that morning, another world away. Since then, he had been made to strip naked and leave them, along with all his belongings, in a vacuum-sealed storage bag. He would not see them again until long after he'd complete his mako-treatments. Now in the sterile white uniform of a First Phase cadet, he felt the loss of them like a stone in his chest. _

_ He took breakfast that morning with a thousand other cadets of every origin and description. He sat at a table surrounded by strangers, not speaking or eating, hands flat under his legs, feeling miserable and betrayed and alone. _

_ The food was a strange consistency, engineered to remove all possible contaminants while providing the exact amount of each nutrient recommended by science. The taste was unspeakably dull. Appalled, he'd starved himself at mealtimes hoping that someone would notice, and bring him palatable food to eat. But of the hundreds of cadets that he observed, most seemed to rejoice at having food in front of them at all, and his silent tantrum, which had attracted no attention at all from the program authorities, seemed increasingly absurd and childish._

_ His squeamishness did not go entirely unnoticed, however; it earned him several unflattering nicknames amongst the cadets who sat at his table. _

_ "Hey Princess McPosh! You enjoying your frog legs?" A boy sitting across from him jeered. The boy was the same age, olive skinned, muscular, with long, unruly hair and a thick city accent. He was grinning in such a way that took the sting out of his words. "Cus if you don't want 'em, I'll sure' as hell take 'em."_

_ The boy's name was Maxwell—called Max, or sometimes, inexplicably, "Andras", which was the last name he'd assigned himself while living on the streets of Midgar. Max, however unlikely and foul-mouthed, was to become the first friend he made as a cadet. _

_ "It's not frog legs. Technically, it's nutrient-rich meal that's been rehydrated, condensed in a mold, and artificially flavored and colored." A soft but articulate voice said from Max's right. Eyes went to a mousey-looking cadet who peeked out at them from under a fringe of curling blonde hair. "I mean, just in case you were curious."_

_ "Oh my god, man. What the hell." Max enunciated through a mouthful of food. "I don't care what it's made of, I'm fucking hungry! Yeesh. Fancy-smelling Upper-Plate brats, the both of you." _

_ "My name's Winter, by the way. Don't mind Max, he's a certified lunatic." _

_ Winter became his second friend. _

_ "Ah…" He hadn't spoken to anyone casually in days, and it took him a moment to find his voice. "I'm Treize. Pleased to meet you. Er—you can have the rest of this, if you like." _

_ In the coming weeks the cadets prepared their bodies for the coming ravages of mako-treatments, while they filled their minds with the vocabulary of SOLDIER and the paradigms of combat. _

_ Daily they were instructed, trained, and scoured; and after their regimen was complete, they were allowed to mingle in a recreational area filled with dozens of flickering monitors. The screens televised the latest popular dramas and inspirational videos of fully-fledged SOLDER members in mock combat, their uncannily elegant movements sometimes too fast for the eye to follow- always interspersed with reassuring promotional messages for the candidates, branded with the familiar red diamond logo. _

_ "Power is Truth! Trust in Mako, the way of the Future!" _

_ "Shinra Electric Power Company does more than just provide you with convenient, affordable power; our fearless law enforcement units keep peaceful citizens like you safe from criminals, our scientists ensure your lives are free of sickness and disease, and of course, our recruitment teams work round the clock to bring you to your best job opportunity!"_

Lies so shameless and blatant it was a wonder anyone had believed them for a second…

_ And of course the most beloved of video reels—the footage that inspired a kind of god-fearing patriotism in nearly all boys of a certain age—an interview with the SOLDIER General Sephiroth. _

_ In the video, the general was young, only half a decade older than the cadets themselves. The reel had to have been filmed during the start of the Wutai war. He spoke coolly about his profession; eyes bright and cat-like even in the grainy footage. _

_ "SOLDIER is more than just a training program for elite forces. It's about the defense and furthering of ideals… If you don't take pride in what you do, you'll never make it to First Class." The clip was interrupted by the announcer, who periodically reinforced what was said on screen while drowning out the actual words. _

_ Treize studied the general's eyes carefully, thinking he saw a hint of uncertainty there, though it was difficult to the gauge emotions on such an exotic face. _

If any of them had known then what was to become of their hero and the ideals he spoke of, if they had known what they themselves would become once they followed in his footsteps, they would have run from that place and never looked back.

He had come so far down the road of self-enlightenment since his days as a First Phase cadet, but here he was, having made the same foolish blunder, made the same gross assumptions and ignored the same vital questions.

The coals were still glowing under him even now. How had he not seen them?

Had he really thought of defeating evil and bringing some private vision of beauty to the world? When he himself had been a part of the forces of oppression, and the evils imagined simply reflections of his ignorance, things that did not conform to his puerile sense of aesthetics?

He had long since grown weary of Shinra's promises, and disgusted by the complacency of the organization his family belonged to… but he'd felt somehow that if he simply worked _hard_ enough to be a gentleman, his civility would overshadow the harm the institution did. It would set an example and help those around him to improve.

For a while he'd been able to fool himself that he was on the right path. But the flaws in Shinra ran deeper than simply bad conduct on behalf of the soldiers. And how could he expect to make a difference so passively? So cleanly?

It had taken Sephiroth's gloved hand around his windpipe for him to how much chaff was still to be given to the fire. The flaws in his philosophy glowed ember red, like the weaknesses in ill-tempered blade.

They were holding him back.

If he were a hero, he would have abandoned this life years ago. But that was not to be his role in this drama. He could have joined the rebels in Avalanche or fought a glorious, solitary, losing battle against the enemy. But he had not. He was not a strong enough man. He was not even a _good_ man. But as he saw it, he was the only one standing in the right position— an infiltrator inside the gates, the small force on the end of a long lever that would make the world move.


	3. The Lion

"I disdained to mingle with a herd, though to be leader- and of wolves. The lion is alone, and so am I."

_-"Manfred", Byron_

**The Lion**

Rufus Shinra was in a killing mood.

The Upper Plate was cold with the first touch of urban winter; the smog on the city was thinner than usual, the long windows of his office were untouched by pollution. Even the clouds had dissipated, making it a particularly chill evening. This suited him fine. Even in the oppressive Midgar summers, Shinra HQ was never warmer than 56˚F. This stopped employees from falling asleep, and from ever being entirely comfortable during their shifts.

Today was his first staff meeting as chief executive officer; the beginning of the end of his father's Shinra.

Rufus took a moment to admire the surgically clean glass wall of his office, studying the comforting glow of a million electric dots of his city under a foggy, diluted moon. From this high up, he could see abstractions of upper-plate houses and factories, all the way to the barely visible horizon line, where the Upper Plate ended and the slums spilled out into the rock-dead landscape of the wilderness beyond.

He inhaled deeply the brisk, filtered air of his office. He was five-minutes late for the meeting. He'd made sure of that, watching the seconds until precisely 300 of them had ticked by. He did not want to give the members of the board the false impression that he cared about them, or even worse, that he cared what they thought of _him._

Further assuring the committee's sweaty-palmed hatred of their new manager, Rufus was wearing an ensemble that could barely be described as 'office casual'; turtle-necked sweater under a stainless white overcoat and vest (loosely buttoned), with fingerless leather gloves, and steel-toed combat boots. No matter the occasion, Rufus preferred to wear what he liked, often doing so with such confidence that it gave others the impression that they were mistakenly overdressed.

Emblazoned steel doors slid open to the tune of a five-key passcode, revealing the committee room beyond. Rufus skimmed over the array of faces before him as if they were particularly hearty specimens of slum weed.

Weeks earlier, they had listened to the young president give an impromptu inauguration speech for himself; he had made it clear at the time that things were going to be different under his leadership, and that he in no way found any of them to be irreplaceable. They could either roll with the changes, or consider finding alternate employment.

This had been a bluff. The young president knew it as well as they did; the faculty of Shinra Inc. were too well entrenched in their respective positions to be buffeted by a change in leadership. But it had gotten the point across: the new Shinra would not be a place for sitting back and coasting on past achievements or vague plans for development.

The new Shinra was dead serious.

In two stony rows, Rufus counted off the heads of department: Sr. Executive Palmer to his right, Brigadier Heidegger on his left and Chief Engineer Scarlet across from him. Head of Urban Development, Reeve Tuesti, sat opposite an empty chair where Professor Hojo would have been, if the head of the Science Department had cared any more than Rufus what his peers thought of him. Two officials from the accounting departments and public records sat farther down, accompanied by Midgar's vestigial 'Mayor'. Tseng alone stood in the far corner, observing the situation but not participating. And at the end of the table…

Rufus frowned. Bookending the conference table was a face that he did not recognize.

The man sitting there seemed to be the only person present (besides Tseng) who was not sweating under his collar. His blue eyes were unnaturally luminescent, marking him as a member of the SOLDIER program.

When Rufus sat down, they had a very clear view of each other. The newcomer had amber-tinted brown hair, neatly swept back from his forehead except for two curling bangs that fell across his forehead, and strange forked eyebrows that reminded Rufus of horns. The man wore a crisp, cobalt military uniform with gold braided epaulettes and a pristine white placket at the front that bore a medal shaped like a snarling lion.

So this was the new SOLDIER General, Treize Khushrenada; the replacement for Sephiroth. Their gazes locked, and without breaking eye contact, Rufus dropped his briefcase onto the table, a little louder than was necessary.

"Good morning." He said, voice clear and uninflected, devoid of even a hint of his predecessor's two-faced, jovial charisma.

"I assume you all know what this conference is about. Yearly departmental revision."

This had been a joke in his father's time; a mad scramble for kickbacks and raises. It had been a time to unearth old scandals in order to slander the competition, or to undercut the guy down the hall who screwed your wife, or fire the lazy secretary who spent all her time filling up the office with nail polish fumes. There was very rarely any actual revision made to any of the departments; and the heads liked to keep it that way.

Rufus intended to pick up the slack like a hangman's noose.

"There are two sectors with unfinished tenant housing projects currently abandoned by Urban Development, due to misplaced funds. Good news, I found the funds, and the previous coordinators have been let go."

There was fidgeting from the ranks. Why those particular projects had been shut down was well known. Reeve, dressed in a conservative dark blue suit, folded his hands on the table and said nothing, keeping his eyes on Rufus. He obviously had his doubts about the new young president, but he was not yet resentful.

"More good news, both projects can be contracted out at much lower rates than originally estimated. I believe Reeve projected that number some time ago, and now it's been adjusted. The first contractor I get willing to undertake construction of low-rent, high-occupancy structures for half the initial amount can start immediately."

Rufus cast his most steely executive gaze on the table.

"We're losing money on Sector 7 every day that it's sitting as a pile of burned-out rubble. The more legitimate housing we have, the less illegal power tapping we get…presumably you all remember the conference on that, earlier this year."

Muttering and grumbling from the table. In fact, Rufus had only read the minutes from that conference via Tseng's reports, but he had memorized every detail therein, including the portion where his father had dismissed the idea of rebuilding Sector 7 in favor of pursuing his dream city, Neo-Midgar.

Rufus had his own ideas about the search of the Promised Land, but letting his city rot in neglect was not a feature in any of them.

There was no graceful solution to illegal power-tapping in the slums. To make violent examples of the perpetrators would be to waste time and effort ratting out and eradicating potential taxpayers- while passively ignoring the issue would allow the problem to spread.

"Broken down: upper-plate domestic mako consumption makes up only 25% of the city's energy usage. Foreign export account for 30%, city utilities 10%; which means nearly a third of mako energy use comes from lower-plate homes and businesses."

A third was a lot, in terms of profit margin, and therefore keeping the citizens of the Midgar paying for their own power legally was important.

"The sooner we get company-monitored structures up, the sooner we can stop hemorrhaging money into the slums."

One white-gloved hand raised off the table a fraction of an inch. Noticing it, Rufus paused mid-breath. He'd half intended to steamroll through this meeting without any interruption, but his small hesitation undid the opportunity, and the SOLDIER general proceeded without invitation.

"Is it safe to assume, President Shinra, that these structures contracted at a lower price will meet the city's fire and air safety codes? If I remember correctly, it was getting the structures up to standard in the last construction phase that sent the budget over in the first place."

Rufus's gaze hardened. He inhaled, audible in a room suddenly so quiet you could hear a pin drop. He swallowed his first defensive reaction, staying cool under the scrutiny of both Reeve and Treize.

It was Reeve who had been pressing for a higher budget in order to make the codes before the project was dropped. Feeling that they were unnecessarily finicky and hampering the wheels of progress, Rufus had been in the process of overriding those very safety codes though various legislative bribes… But there was no way the general could have known about that, unless he had been very recently in contact with a wide scattering of Sector administrators, or researched every written memo in the cryptically organized filing system.

Treize wasn't finished. "And, perhaps I simply missed the reference, but where exactly did you _'find'_ the missing construction budget?" This was said with mildly amused precision, a very polite bullet aimed at the surrounding department heads. "Had it gone very far?"

Before a pin-drop would have been audible, and now so were the heartbeats of everyone at the table.

The heat was off of Rufus suddenly, as the leading members of the board, whose pockets were lined thickly with invisible profits, profits that were sure never to be missed, turned to look at the lately-come general.

Heidegger's face flushed red; his mustaches bristling like small, enraged animals. Scarlet's long black cigarette holder drooped precariously from her lips. Palmer sweated so profusely that he had to mop his brow. Reeve's black eyes glittered with something like triumph.

"Huh." Said Rufus, sitting back and folding his arms. He looked down the table with an expression sharp as a freshly honed razor. "Of course the buildings will be up to code. I intended to personally make sure of it. And as for the money…" he glanced sideways to the rest of the board for a split second, interlocking his hands on the table with a creak of leather. "There were some payroll discrepancies. If you're curious as to the specifics, those files are available to all employees… I'm sure you're a busy man, but if you have time, feel free to get elbow deep in the archives."

_Go ahead; sink your teeth into that one. _Thought Rufus. _My secretary is the only one who knows their way around that filing system. Weaker men have drowned in it. _

"Now, if there are no _further comments_, I'd like to move on to the issue of tightening Public Safety's regulation of the press…"

Minutes slid by without interruption and the meeting continued. Several superfluous managers were sacked, two-and-a-half departments let go, and a few key promotions were made, but all the while an irritating tingle of unresolved tension between the president and the general remained.

The meeting concluded an hour later to mutual relief of president and staff.

Rufus was last to leave the table, lingering behind under the pretext of shuffling his papers into an obsessively neat square, killing time until the executives and department heads vacated the room.

Several questions nagged him: How had this General Khushrenada known about the failure of the last construction project? More importantly, why in the hell should _care_? SOLDIER had never concerned itself with the political affairs of Shinra proper before, certainly not under Sephiroth's leadership. What did this arrogant upstart have to gain from making enemies of the committee that had put him in power?

Rufus remembered seeing the general before, a blurry memory of parading troops and handshaking at Heidegger's insufferably embarrassing welcoming ceremony. Aside from a briefly amusing incident with a guard who had apparently not memorized the rifle drill*, no single event stuck out in his mind as important. Surely he would have noticed someone so prominent if they were going to disturb the new order. The Turks should have sniffed him out before now.

A knock at the door broke the silence of the president's reverie. Rufus looked up, and found himself meeting a pair of painfully blue, Mako-saturated eyes. General Khushrenada himself stood to one side of the door, hand resting on the open/close button.

Rufus began to feel worry coil in pit of his stomach. This was not the behavior of a rich, by-the-books placeholder with his mind on a cushy Shinra pension in 10 years.

The president of Shinra Electric Company cleared his throat and folded his arms, fixing the man with a stare that could cut through concrete.

"Forget something General? Or do you think that whatever you have to say is important enough that it can't wait until the next meeting?"

Irrationally, Rufus wanted the man to turn around and leave, to give some indication that he was suitably intimidated by Shinra's authority.

But the man did not leave. The coil in Rufus's belly wound fractionally tighter as he realized that neither of them was going to back down.

"My dear President Shinra. I don't believe we've ever made a formal acquaintance." Treize gave a cool smile that was several degrees warmer than the frost in the air between them. "I wanted to applaud you on an excellent first appearance. It takes some courage to challenge a room full of over-complacent, vindictive bureaucrats."

The president stared icicles at him from across the room, the sheaf of paperwork half raised like a flag representing all the _very important things_ the Shinra CEO was in the middle of doing.

"…And?" he said, face frozen.

"The board is used to getting fed scraps from Shinra's table. You've broken a long tradition today, taking away the bone they've been gnawing on." Treize gave half a chuckle. "They'll be after blood now. I admire your willingness to stir things up, even if it means you'll be spending a lot of time looking over your shoulder."

Rufus raised an eyebrow, papers lowering to half-mast.

Apparently immune to all animosity, the uniformed figure closed the distance between himself and the company president with a few clicking steps, polished knee-high boots gleaming. Treize looked the younger man over, appraising his rebellious wardrobe and the affronted but curious expression that was spreading across his face like a slow thaw. Then the sterling smile widened. He extended his hand.

"You're really nothing like your father."

Magic words had been spoken. Despite himself, Rufus felt a bit of instinctive paranoia crack and melt away.

"I should hope so." He said, taking the general's hand and shaking it once, firmly and without lingering.

"And you, General Khushrenada, are more trouble than I expected you to be. I never met Sephiroth officially, but I know he was never this interested in the business of HQ… What are you doing rooting around in obscure Shinra project files?"

Rufus tried to read through the layers of skin and bone to the invisible thought mechanisms in the general's brain. "You're breaking the rules, like your predecessor. Hopefully things won't get as _messy_ with you?"

The general laughed, friendly and conspiratorial. "Please, call me Treize. There have been generals by the name of Khushrenada before me, with whom I wish to invite no comparison. And don't worry… I have no intention of vanishing half-way through my career or becoming a menace to humanity."

He sounded carefree, though he undoubtedly still bore scars from his last encounter with said 'menace'.

"As to my interest in the company's affairs, I have to confess, I feel I have a certain duty to fill my time meaningfully… as my rank has removed me more thoroughly from the field of action than any flesh-wound could have…"

"Oh?" Rufus stood, putting the papers away at last. "And you consider scandalizing your peers and making my life difficult to be meaningful?"

Treize bore the stare of his commander in chief with full composure, allowing a few moments for reflection. Then he cocked his head to one side.

"Have dinner with me." A white-gloved hand suddenly rested on Rufus's shoulder, companionable, if somewhat invasive. Rufus tensed visibly, eyeballing the hand on his shoulder with as much discomfort as if it had been an enormous white spider.

"I know how valuable your time is, Mr. President… But I feel, against all expectation, that we have something in common. Don't you agree?" The general's voice was polite, compelling, and brooked no argument. "I'd very much like to continue this conversation in a more appropriate venue…"

He left the obvious qualifier '_more private_' out, as both men became aware of the subtle shuffling and muffled sounds of interested third parties gathering outside the door, pretending to have some excuse for loitering.

Rufus stared through the taller man, searching the handsome face for any sign of a hidden agenda, any disingenuous smirk; but came up against a smooth wall of good intentions. Either this meant that a decent human being had finally snuck into his company, Rufus thought, or this man was the most formidable actor he'd ever met.

Either way, he didn't trust the general as far as he could throw him, and standing at least 4 or 5 inches taller than Rufus, and that much wider in the shoulders, he doubted that would be very far.

Rufus couldn't wriggle away from the too-forward hand without betraying nervousness; and that was the last thing he wanted to do in front of any of his employees. Possibly the last thing he _would_ do.

Under the starched planes of his vest and the softer material of his turtleneck, he felt the familiar angularity of a concealed pistol holster at his waist. Remembering it was there gave him strength.

"Fine. You pick and make reservations; I'll be there. Text me the location tomorrow. I'm free at eight."

He waited for the intruding hand to lift, and had to stifle a relieved exhale when it did. There was no reason to be nervous; it was normal for professional men to pat each other on the back, shake hands, go to fancy restaurants and talk business. Nothing to be concerned about… not even with Treize smiling like he was genuinely pleased, as if he had nothing to hide.

"Excellent. I look forward to it, sir. May I call you Rufus?"

"I think you better, as long as we're wining and dining together."

The conference room door snapped open for the two Shinra officials, sending unsuspecting eavesdroppers scattering every which way in a cloud of flustered explanations.

Watching Treize Khushrenada unaffectedly nod to the crowd of bureaucrats, floating above their pettiness as if even acknowledging that such low character traits existed was beneath him; hearing him extend easy offers of friendship in the same tone as he'd used slitting the throats of the senior executives, reminded Rufus that there were rungs of the social ladder that he, with all his gil and influence, would never ascend to; there were feats of thoughtless grace and benevolence that could only be achieved from a position of total, self-assured entitlement, from people who could afford to give away anything.

He was prone to thinking of Shinra as 'old money'; but the truth was that it was old _new_ money. Self-made industrialists would always exist in a different world than the blue-blooded aristocracy in whose circles no amount of mere capital would ever equal 'good breeding'.

Poise was not something Rufus necessarily valued as a characteristic, especially in himself, but he did acknowledge what it signified: a kind of membership card to humanity's most exclusive, and often most dangerous club.

With a small thrill of adrenaline, the president wondered if perhaps he'd just taken a leap into uncharted waters that were terrifyingly out of his depth… but on company property, Treize was in Rufus's court, and they were playing _his_ game.

* * *

_((* I never could get Cloud to do that stupid dance right.))_


	4. Mate in Three

**Mate in Three**

Eight o'clock sharp on the Upper Plate; the streets were humming with the beginnings of nightlife. Trolleys made stops at every other city block, cars whose backs streamed with lamplight roared or purred with customized engines, and sleek black taxi cabs waited on their wealthy passengers, ready to escort them in style to choice locations. Music and commotion and color pulsed along the veins of the city after dark.

Anyone who was anyone cruised the Hub in the evenings- the point at which the plate sectors converged around Shinra tower, making up the thriving downtown ring of the floating city. While the slums of Midgar may have provided outlet for every possible vice, the Hub catered to a clientele with more refined appetites, and less need to constrain them.

Rufus Shinra checked his wristwatch, an unadorned chrome device that displayed its geared mechanism through a tiny crystal window. Good. He was on time.

A boy hurried to take Rufus's keys as he marched into the gilded marble foyer of what was possibly the most expensive restaurant on the Plate; an establishment known only by its emblazoned red and gold poppy signature.

The maitre'd greeted him by name. Rufus had never dined there before, but he'd long since become accustomed to strangers recognizing him.

"This way please, President Shinra. It's an honor to serve you."

"I just bet it is." He quipped, handing his pristine white dinner jacket to the staff. "Careful with my coat." he said coolly, with an accompanying look that implied_ 'If that has so much as a dusting of lint on it when I get it back, I will personally revoke every catering license in your franchise'._ He received a professional nod in return. So far he approved of the service, if not the decor of Treize's chosen restaurant. The second party had already arrived, Rufus noted. At least the man was punctual_._

A waitress was hovering around the general like a starry-eyed butterfly on a particularly pungent rose. Rufus winced. It wasn't particularly difficult to see why Treize had been promoted by popular demand. He exuded an aura of personal charisma and refinement ten feet in every direction. Rufus could almost taste it making the air sweeter. It was hideous.

The president slid into his seat across from Treize, their private corner awash in chandelier light and candles. _Candles for god's sake, I thought we were passed that as a civilization._

"May I recommend the Blue-Mideel Moscat '55 tonight, sir? It will go particularly well with tonight's entrée."

Rufus shook his head. "No. Just water and scotch."

"Very good sir."

So this was the sort of place that the general preferred, so posh the establishment got to decide what you ate that night. Rufus interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on them, elbows on the table. He was not particularly interested in shaking hands.

"I see you got here before me, despite my best efforts."

"I wanted to make a special request of the chefs ahead of time. I hope you don't mind, sir."

"Could you ask them to take out these stupid candelabras and replace them with something reasonable? Like Mako-fluorescents?" he huffed, provoking a chuckle, dark and velvet, from his guest.

"I think they'd object to the destruction of this carefully preserved romantic atmosphere. Aside from the food and wine, real candlelight is the biggest part of what makes The Poppy so successful." Slitted eyes traced the ornate twists of the chandeliers' branches with casual interest. "I much prefer this over the electric variety. It has a certain baroque audacity that I find appealing."

"I never understood why people get so sentimental over _dim yellow lights."_ Rufus grumbled, realigning his silverware with mathematical precision.

"Is there anything that makes you sentimental President Shinra?" Treize arched an eyebrow.

"No. Haven't you heard? I don't bleed or cry."

"Fair enough."

At the restaurant's central podium, an impeccably dressed pianist brought _Nocturne #16 in E flat_ to a graceful conclusion. This gave Rufus a moment to examine his dinner guest, unexpected ally, or enemy in disguise. The scrutiny was not reciprocated.

"So, 'President Shinra' huh? Are we done with first names already, 'General Khushrenada'?"

"Ah, forgive me." The Treize turned away from the piano performance. "I grew accustomed to calling your father by that title, when I worked for him." He put emphasis on the past tense. " …I too bear an only recently vacated title. We both have large shoes to fill, don't we?" He regarded Rufus directly. "And footprints that have gone places we would not."

Rufus licked his lips, keeping his expression…careful.

"Yes. Interesting to think that the same turn of events promoted both of us simultaneously…" He replied. A silent acknowledgment of suspicion lay heavy in the air between them like smoke. Certain accusations had been made by the international press that did not reflect well on either of them, but no one had confirmed anything one way or the other, and as long as this was the case, Rufus would let the rumors fly where they pleased.

"Still, you're liked well enough. People seem to trust you." He tried to keep the cynicism out of his voice. "That's a valuable asset to the company, and if it's a natural talent of yours, then you have nothing but my deepest appreciation."

"Hah. Your heads of staff are just relieved that I'm human. I came with a pedigree. That's enough for them." Treize chuckled. "As for my _soldiers_, they trust me because they know I value them. I can't say the same for my fellow board members."

Rufus found that his foot was twitching rather excitedly under the table. He made a conscious effort to stop fidgeting, and crossed his legs. "Oh?"

"They're all your father's people, and I'm a new addition. They have no great love of change in the upper echelons."

"You're telling me." Rufus snorted.

"And as for me—_I_ have no great love of people who consider civilian massacres to be a justifiable reaction to terrorism." Something sharp crystallized in Treize's eyes, which were otherwise as fluid as liquid mercury under the shades of candlelight.

"I wasn't here when that happened." Rufus's brow darkened with a flash of anger. "I had to hear about Sector 7 from a thousand miles away." His hands clenched under the tablecloth. "_Pitiful_."

The Shinra heir took a breath and a gulp of whiskey before continuing. "A waste of resources and money. Typical of the old man, hiding behind his PR department."

"I see…" The general paused to sip his wine, his countenance once more mild and thoughtful. "Then, I'm curious to see how you will handle this predicament with your staff, Rufus Shinra. You strike me as a very efficient man…"

The glass sent a ghost of ruby light across white linen. Red diamond on white, much like the Shinra Company insignia.

Rufus coughed. "Well, if you're hoping that I'll make them vanish overnight, you've got another thing coming." Even if he might have wanted to simply have his Turks dispose of the whole greasy, conspiratorial lot of them, they were still thoroughly burrowed in the company's root structure.

As of yet, there were no viable substitutes for Heidegger, Scarlet, Hojo, or Reeve, though _Palmer_ he could probably do without.

"…And anyway, I try not to burn bridges that I'm in the middle of crossing. I like to make sure that I've got both feet safely on the other side first." He rested his chin on his knuckles, cracking them discreetly beforehand.

"I see. Very practical… And once you are on the other side?"

Rufus smiled thinly. "I'm not like you, general. I'm not terribly impressed by the past. I find it to be enormously flammable."

"You must enjoy being hated." Treize responded with a hint of irony. He balanced his chin on one hand, expression betraying nothing but a mild intellectual interest as he swirled the last of his wine in its glass.

Scowling, Rufus shrugged. "I've been hated my whole life. It comes easy after a while. The longer I live, the more obvious it becomes that fear is the only effective way to wield power." He spread his hands on the table. "People are fickle, their cultural memories are short. You can do what you want, as long as you give them convenience and luxury. And keep reminding them that you could take it away again at any moment."

Treize blinked, face showing neither agreement nor disapproval. "That is indeed an excellent way to control people. And they so love to be controlled." He finished his wine.

Anxiety started to creep up on Rufus. He hated that he couldn't read this man; he was ready to jump on the table if would just make him _react_.

Crumpling his napkin and dropping in his lap gave him and excuse to break eye contact. The city's glittering reflection in the restaurant's window caught his attention, suspending his frustration. He took a deep breath.

"To tell you the truth, I am sentimental—about one thing, and one thing only." Rufus folded his arms. "I love this city. Shinra Inc is the motor that keeps Midgar running, and as long as I'm in charge, I'm going to make sure she runs smoothly. I don't give a damn if the people hate me for it."

"For what it's worth, Rufus…" General Treize leaned forward confidentially, "I think that's a very admirable quality. I think you're what this city _deserves_." He smiled, charming and leonine.

"Deserves…?" Rufus stared across the table at him with a hint of surprise, just as their entrees were placed in front of them with a flourish by a waiter.

Rufus shook his head free of the odd philosophical poker game and glanced down at the plate. He hadn't even taken notice of the food until the general coughed expectantly, waiting for his superior to begin eating.

"This is…" he looked up at the wait staff that was hovering nearby. "What is this, anyway?"

Happy to oblige, the waiter clasped his hands and delivered an explanation of the dish as if it were a famous soliloquy.

"It is braised chocobo veal, from spring hatchlings bred on the North Continent, with white wine, lemon, and rosemary sauce. It has been wrapped, carefully by our chefs, in layers of phyllo dough peppered with nutmeg. To one side, you'll find steamed Mimett greens on a bed of wild rice, and on the other, caviar. There will be a small course of raspberry sherbet brought out presently."

"...Ah." Rufus intoned as the waiter disappearing again into the candlelit backdrop. The president picked up his knife and fork and made a short, bisecting incision into the veal. The meat parted to its warm red center, oozing a clear pinkish juice that stained the surrounding breading and made it the consistency of damp tissue paper. It still vaguely resembled its original, avian shape. Rufus swallowed.

"They uh… don't let you order your own food here, huh?" He said grimly, not looking up from his plate.

Treize did not comment, wrists balanced elegantly on the edge of the table in continental fashion, fork and knife poised above his own meal as he watched the younger man dissected his food with slow, methodical precision, making no actual effort to bring it nearer his mouth. The general put down his cutlery and stood up half way, his hand raised. Immediately, the maitre'd was at his side, inquiring what could be done for him.

"I'm afraid the president has found the dish not to his liking. Would you mind terribly bringing him a menu?" He spread his hands, as if the fault of the matter had been entirely his.

Rufus opened his mouth to say something, but the offending plate had already been whisked away without so much as a dirty look from the staff.

He blinked. Amazing- He was certain that if he'd attempted the same maneuver, his name would have been spoken like a curse to Fine Dining for generations afterwards. There would have been tears. People fired. Effigies of him burned in public.

"Um… Thank you." He exhaled involuntarily.

"It's no trouble," rejoined Treize genuinely. "It was my fault, I didn't ask you what your preference was before ordering. It's one of _my_ favorite dishes." If possible, the general looked sheepish.

Rufus barked a quick laugh, slightly too loud for the close environs. "I just like my food simple, cooked, and not recognizable as a given species. My tastes aren't that refined." He admitted, in a better humor than he had expected.

"I'll keep that in mind, sir." Treize nodded with mock solemnity, then beamed, "Do let me make it up to you, though… Why don't you come back with me to my estate? If nothing else, I can offer you a number of drinks more pedigreed than I am."

When the SOLDIER general had said "estate", Rufus had envisioned a five-story manor house with a manicured hedge-maze and a coachman waiting out front by a carriage. Something like that would have been impossible to maintain in Midgar or the surrounding area, even if you had as much money as Treize's people purportedly did. It was nevertheless the first image that emerged into the president's mind, and when a quaint, two-floor, upper plate house sporting a small, if expensive, rose garden came into view through the cab window, he was surprised.

"Huh. I was expecting something a little more…"

"Baroque?" suggested his companion helpfully. "Extravagant?"

"…Revolting." Nodded the president, in whose mind the three adjectives were in perfect agreement.

"Sorry to disappoint." grinned the general, who appeared in no way sorry. "Wait till you see inside."

At the door, Treize offered to take Rufus's coat. "What, no valet? No 'gentleman's gentleman'?" The president shrugged off his white dinner jacket, rolling his shoulders afterwards to realign the sleeves of his shirt, and tweaked the square, steel cufflinks at his wrists.

Treize smiled. "Not even an orderly. Despite popular belief, I'm capable of folding my own clothes and answering the door. Besides. I'm rarely at home these days. "

The general began the arduous process of unbuttoning his uniform front, hanging the fine wool garment up with relief. Rufus noted a small damp triangle on the pale silk undershirt at the man's collar. It must have been uncomfortably warm for him all through dinner, but he hadn't said a word.

As far as he could see, the house was entirely furnished with hardwood paneling, polished brass, and patterned silk wallpaper. To have so much _real wood_ construction in a house, especially just for decoration, was unthinkable. There hadn't been a naturally grown tree, let alone a forest, in the Midgar area for so long that they'd almost passed into legend. Shinra HQ had one, artificially sustained by at least seven different systems in the employee lounge on floor 61, and that had been his father's way of impressing the peons with his wealth. This house was generations old, and liable to fall down around their ears at any second, or it had cost a literal fortune to build. _Old world grandeur indeed_, thought Rufus.

"Do you want more of the same, or can I offer you a dessert liquor?" Treize had gone around to the sitting room and had a glass-fronted cabinet open to an array of bottles.

"Hm? Oh. No, thank you. I'll have brandy."

"Excellent choice."

Rufus raised an eyebrow. The phrase smacked of character assessment. "Would you think less of me if I had said 'just crack me open a light beer?'"

"Probably." The older man smiled, turning half way as he poured the red-amber liquid into two snifters with gold rims. "But I assure you that was a brag as to the quality of this cognac, not a personal judgment. Here- I hope you find it more acceptable than dinner." He raised his own glass, handing Rufus the other. "A toast."

"To what?"

Treize put a hand to his chin. "To unexpected colleagues?"

"If I'm going to toast anything, make it something practical." Rufus tossed his head, flipping his unruly blonde bang out of his face.

"…To continued supremacy, then." Mako blue eyes glittered. "And victory, over your enemies."

Rufus's glass chimed against the general's. "You don't make it a secret who you think _they_ are."

The brandy was very fine. He almost didn't have time to swallow it before it had evaporated, filling his mouth with the rich glow of its fumes. His eyes watered. "_K-haah_. You weren't kidding."

Treize sipped his more sparingly. "I wouldn't dare serve you anything but my finest." The taller, golden haired gentleman gestured for Rufus to sit across from him in an overstuffed armchair.

"As it happens… I did have another reason for asking you here tonight…" Treize put down his glass and sat with a luxurious exhale, long legs stretching. There was a fireplace on one wall encased in solid marble, and a glass coffee table between the two chairs. On it sat a magnificently crafted chessboard, its pieces carved out of ebony and ivory, tipped with gold and silver.

"I have yet to meet a politician worth their salt who couldn't play a decent game of chess. Rufus Shinra, would you do me the honor?"

A competitive gleam appeared in Rufus's eyes. "I play as white, of course."

"Of course." Treize smiled.

The first game began and ended unremarkably. The general played a defensive game; units all lined up protecting each other, making progress impossible without trading pieces.

"I hate being blockaded…" Rufus muttered. He singled out each piece separately, making trades without hesitation, until he'd passed and punched through Treize's line, meticulously slaughtering both sides until he had only three pieces left on the board, and he used one of them to deal the killing stroke. He crossed his arms, leaned back, and tilted his head to one side, clucking his tongue softly.

"Is that the best you can do, general? Maybe I'm paying you too much."

Treize sipped his brandy, amused and seemingly unfazed by the competitive barb. "I like to feel out my opponents on the first game. Don't worry, I'll try not to bore you."

They started again. The big guns came out first in the second game; Treize maneuvered his queen out early, knocking a hole in Rufus's front line and controlling the middle rows tyrannically with her flanking bishops. He moved with almost reckless aggression. Rufus found himself on the run, his ice blue eyes narrowing with frigid concentration. Meanwhile, his opponent was displaying a troubling lack of concern for winning, watching Rufus as much as the board. Hiss hand rested casually on his chin, obscuring a Cheshire-Cat smile.

"You haven't won yet." Rufus cautioned, looking over his interlocked fingers.

"I was just thinking what a lovely evening this has turned out to be." Treize replied graciously with an elegant flick of his wrist. "A chance for me to entertain a unique, straightforward, and effective individual and make up for yesterday's rudeness."

"Mmh. Yes. Lovely." Rufus agreed, coolly swapping the black rook for his knight with one hand. "But I'd advise against being too distracted by chivalry."

"Ah…" Treize put a gloved finger to his lips, leaning forward. "I'll admit that's a weakness of mine. There. That's something worth knowing about your general, hm?"

He spanned the length of the board with his queen, taking out the offending knight. It left a convenient space in his offensive line up. Rufus's pale lips curled upwards into a smug executioner's grin.

"Personal revenge is never as important as winning. As tempting as it is." He slid a bishop through the gap, threatening the errant queen.

"Interesting… I thought maybe you'd do something dramatic."

"You were the one who sacrificed her for an offensive strike." Rufus cracked his knuckles. "Your move."

With a smooth glide of ebony on cherrywood, Treize moved his own bishop into the line of fire. "There. An opportunity for a gallant soldier to defend his monarch."

Rufus frowned. "Are you toying with me?" He took the offered piece with indelicate emphasis. "If you're pulling your punches to make a fancy allegory, I'll leave right now."

"Not at all!" The general laughed. "You're reading far too much into my losses… I wax eloquent when I'm losing, that's all."

The blonde tossed his head, smirking arrogantly. "Too bad you can't sacrifice your king to win. I bet you'd do it. Wouldn't that be 'dramatic'?"

"Hah. That's why chess is so remarkable. The crux of the game lies on the surrender of one of the weakest characters. Regardless of the strength of his army, the king is his own greatest liability. Will you take me out, I wonder?" mused Treize, regarding his queen, arms folded across his knees.

"No… It's not in my best interests at the moment. I'll wait till I have a stronger move… I don't like losing. That's a weakness of _mine_."

"Really? I've always done quite well for myself in losing. I suppose defeat suits me." Treize smiled, and dispatched Rufus's bishop, putting him into check in the same move.

"…Hm. Time to start paying attention." Rufus scratched his head, and held off on conversation until he was sure he was winning again.

"You really do have a flair for spectacular exits." The president remarked as his opponent tipped over the black king with an exaggerated sigh of resignation and a chuckle. Despite being two games behind, Treize seemed genuinely delighted with his opponent's strategy.

"And you make for a magnificent adversary! There's nothing I love so much as a spirited opponent."

"Your turning point was giving up that bishop, Trieze." Rufus dodged the compliment warily, not sure if it was one he was ready to accept.

"You think so? Well, good thing you spotted it then. I was hoping for a grand finish such as that. I can't abide games that go on and on, chasing across the board to no effect."

"Neither can I." Rufus stretched, yawning. "One more. See if you can redeem yourself."

"As you wish."

Brandy was poured, refilling their glasses near midnight as the third game was set up, black and white figures once more replaced in their original positions. Rufus began with his knights, starting up an early offensive. The general followed conservatively, building up lines of pawns. The small, tense clicks were the only sound heard in the room aside from a clock chime. Rufus lost a bishop early, which irritated him. He retaliated with vengeance, taking out Treize's rook that had been left vulnerable after castling. Mako luminescence flashed in the azure eyes.

"You're quite ruthless." breathed the black pieces' player. "It's exhilarating. I can't wait to see what you'll do next."

Rufus looked to him in surprise. "What?"

"Really, it sends chills down my spine." The general's voice was a brandy-soaked purr, "I might lose on purpose, just for the thrill."

"Don't you dare." Rufus glowered, aware that he was ahead by several pieces. "And if you're trying to distract me with flattery, I won't have it." He took out a pawn, before realizing too late that it was a trade. "Damn…"

The aristocrat laughed softly, using his next few moves to pin Rufus's king uncomfortably in a corner. The president found himself biting hard on his lip, a habit he'd tried to suppress over the years. The game had boiled itself down to its most intense elements; a queen, two rooks, a bishop, and a scattering of pawns.

Treize's king had inched down the board, keeping Rufus' own cornered, under the constant guard of a black rook and bishop, neither of whom could carry out a finish without Rufus first moving the white rook from his back row. Everything was locked up tight. He chased Treize's king around with his queen, quite ineffectually. His opponent smiled, and moved a pawn.

At last the president saw what was happening. Each square on the path of the black pawn was protected by the same blockade of pieces that was trapping his king. He cursed to himself, trying to move back into a retaliating position. One move, then another, then another- Rufus broke the blockade recklessly by sacrificing his rook, but it was too late.

Treize slid his passed pawn onto the final square; a resurrected Queen emerged from her chrysalis. Swallowing, the president slid his own pawn forward, one move behind. The general's white-gloved hand swept the black queen diagonally across the board, with the sound of a knife sharpening.

"Checkmate."

That night when Rufus returned to his private suite, basking in the warmth of drunkenness, he turned over the memories of the evening slowly.  
In so many ways, the general was exactly as he'd expect a blue-blooded Romafellor fop to be, and yet…

Rufus dropped himself onto his crisply made bed, rubbing his face to try and restore feeling to his cheeks.

He could not shake the feeling that by winning the first two games, he had lost something to his opponent; something valuable that he should have kept under closer guard.

But alcohol had reduced his ability to examine the matter further, and sleepiness overcame his paranoia in a matter of minutes. It had been, in most respects, the most enjoyable experience since his return to Midgar.


	5. Foxhunt

"The fox provideth for himself, but God provideth for the Lion."

_-William Blake_

**Foxhunt**

Mako reactors were tricky devils to maintain; even when they weren't being dismantled or blown up by eco-terrorists, there were certain inherent liabilities that made them expensive and in need of constant surveillance.

For one thing, the older reactors had a tendency to convert local wildlife into monsters, which put the media on edge somewhat, and was not good for business. The first model of reactors, such as the ones in Nibelheim and Gongaga, had been notorious for allowing condensed Mako salts to collect in the coolant cells, which, when discarded, contaminated the ground water.

The reactors in Midgar had long since improved on that system, but some areas of the slums still ran with polluted water. Aside from the occasional leak, the new reactors were very low risk, as long as the coolant levels were properly maintained and the turbines were changed once every five years. They could be, and had been, stretched out to last seven years, but this was a risky gambit.

Rufus clicked his stainless-steel pen like a metronome. He did not like what he was seeing, and the reactor supervisor in front of him could tell.

"We ah, replaced the condensate extraction pump last month, sir. And the of course, our Mako leakage is within the acceptable percentage." The supervisor explained, trying to divert the president's unblinking stare from the corroded and salt-encrusted turbine.

"This whole rotor needs replacing. Why wasn't this done earlier?" The ominous clicking continued.

"Well sir, respectfully, your father—"

"Do you mean the late Shinra Sr., superintendent?" The president's glare intensified.

"Y-yes sir. He was very keen for us to be as thrifty as possible with the equipment."

Rufus exhaled slowly through his nose and made a sharp mark on his note pad.

"For being so 'thrifty' you sure aren't saving a lot of gil… you're running at half capacity here. I'll put in an order for a replacement turbine. Sloppy maintenance will only lose Shinra money in the long run. I don't know what the old man was thinking… he obviously never paid much attention to the long-term costs of running these facilities."

The supervisor shook his head. "I'm sorry sir. I realize it's been slow moving ever since the…well, incident. The old management never seemed really invested in the up-keep and a lot of things got left by the wayside, if you know what I mean."

With a grudging half-smile the president put his pen away. "I do. But the times are changing. Thanks for your cooperation; I realize you're doing the best you can with what you were provided with. Here's to an improved output next quarter."

They shook hands, and having completed his tour of Reactor 4, the president was escorted to the upper landing where a B1 Alpha helicopter waited to shuttle him to the next sector.

"Where to next, sir? Sector 3?" The pilot asked, half-turned in his seat.

"Let's make it quick, I want to get through the last of the working reactors before sundown."

"Sure thing."

The audits had gone smoothly so far, though the Shinra heir was feeling increasingly resentful of his predecessor. Missing parts, corroded turbines, salt-incrusted filters, and rusty coils were apparently a normal sight in the majority of stations. It gave Rufus a stomachache just thinking about it.

Shinra Sr. had believed in the Promised Land; he'd trusted in its existence like he trusted in the sun rising. He'd pinned the entire future of Shinra Inc on the stories of an uncharted fertile land, while neglecting the living, breathing city under his own feet...

Rufus sometimes wondered why he so adamantly clung to the same pipe dream as his father. It seemed a whimsical indulgence compared to more concrete alternatives that were perhaps out there. But the potential yield from such terrain was too great to ignore, and as any businessman would attest, there was no gain without risk. But even with plans for a new and thriving metropolis in the works, letting the reactors decay like this was a disgrace.

_ "I try not to burn bridges that I'm in the middle of crossing."_ Rufus remembered his conversation with the general and smirked, wondering what Treize would think of the Neo-Midgar plan. Thus far the man had provided no clue as to his opinions; not particularly surprising, as SOLDIER had nothing to do with the company's projections. Still… It seemed like something an idealist might have something to say about, especially one that went out of his way to keep informed of Shinra's movements.

And where was the general today? He'd heard not a peep from the man since their…

Rufus's mouth went sour. Well, what had it been? Not a date. That was absurd. Supplementary business meeting, beyond the range of hearing of the rest of the board. That was it.

The pulsating din of the helicopter blades pulled him back into the present. Mako energy, there was something he understood. He focused on the particulars of the task at hand.

Mako was essentially plasma; due to its connection with the lifestream, the striated tendrils had their own natural inertia, which could be harnessed and accelerated using magnetic fields. The spinning, super-heated mako plasma was contained within the reactor's coils, and the resulting nuclear fusion powered enormous steam turbines that generated the city's electricity. Being abundant as well as an excellent electrical conductor, mako also coursed through the power filaments, lay suspended in light bulbs and television tubes. Its unique properties allowed it to be cooled and condensed into a liquid, which could then be used in everything from batteries to chemical preservatives to medicinal regenerative gel.

The SOLDIER program used it to suppress their patients' immune systems in order to inject them with Jenova cells that their bodies would otherwise reject. Second Phase cadets had to be strong enough to survive the dangerous process while enduring the additional, humiliating side effect of losing all their hair.

Rufus tried to imagine what Treize would have looked like after going through the treatments. His imagination drew a blank. The image was too ridiculous. But maybe, there were still photographs on file….

_No, no, no. _Rufus mentally kicked himself. _Don't think about that now. Reactors. Audits. Investments. _

The next sector came into view from the door port, his city's silver profile strikingly beautiful under the midday sun. Flashes of light crossed the glass-sheathed skyscrapers as they passed above, each car and pedestrian visible in miniature against the concrete, steel, and asphalt. Reactor 3 swung into range of the small window, looming against the skyline. Even from a distance, the plant was visibly in better condition than its counterpart in Sector 4. The helicopter touched down lightly, greeted by an impeccably dressed caretaker. Rufus paced down the reactor catwalk and gave the structure an approving pat.

"You've taken good care of her. I like that." He gave the manager a thin smile and shook his hand.

"Call me Frank." Said the superintendent with the ease of a salesman. "I've done my best. Why don't you come see the inside?"

Rufus flinched as the man jovially put a hand on his back, hurrying inside to avoid more unwanted contact. Once within the reactor the president's surprise increased; the walkways had been lined with plexiglas, separating the workers from the glowing pits of coolant where usually there were only rusting iron rails. The vinegary smell of the mako waste was mitigated by a filter-system that Rufus had only seen in the base reactor at in Shinra HQ. The lights were bright, the walls were clean, and there were even cheerful posters pinned to carpet boards around the workspaces. Refreshments were offered to the executives as they passed through. The president's eyebrows remained raised through the length of the tour.

"This is impressive." He said with sincerity. "How did you get the funding for all this?"

Frank rolled his shoulders with a wide smile. "Ah, you know. We just worked a little harder, kept the budget a little tighter, and put together our own little fundraising pool. Simple, I know, but effective!" He took a bite of chocolate biscuit with an air of great humility. "I understand why the other reactors may be hesitant to do the same… but here at Reactor 3 we just like to put in the extra effort. Because we think Shinra's worth it!"

Rufus's eyebrows dropped back into a neutral stare. "Do we now? How dedicated."

The sharply dressed executive immediately sensed the change in atmosphere and attempted to compensate. "Yeeees indeed. Hey tellyouwhat, let me show you the staff break room we put together! It lets the off-shift take a real break from monitoring the gauges, so they're less restless and more alert when—"

"You know, that sounds great, but I'll take your word for it." Rufus gave him a deceptively cheery smile. "I know… How about you just let me see the records of this fundraising pool that was so successful?"

Frank balked, if only for a second. "Oh, you'll get all that in the next report, of course! You're a busy man, I'm sure you don't want to go through the records this visit. I can send you a copy of whatever you like in a couple of days! Do you want one of these cookies? My secretary baked them. And _they_- _are_- _perfection_. Here, try one…"

Rufus pushed passed him, expression frozen in a false smile. "Not interested! Wow, this looks like it cost a lot of money. You cannot _imagine_ how amazed I am that you managed to keep all your equipment in such good condition, AND get a desk like this." He laughed, hands on his sides. "How do you do it, Frank? I am truly baffled. Is this your computer" The president grinned, sitting down to the superintendent's desktop and leaning his chin on one hand.

"Ah, oh, let me maybe get that for you—my files are just a mess, I don't think you'd be able to find any of the records without my help, I really should organize them better—" He leaned anxiously over the president's shoulder.

"Oops, no need!" Rufus's grin spread further into a kind of grimace. "Here we are, your personal mail account. Hmmm, what have we here? Ooh, something from an escort service. How embarrassing. Annnd, _what's_ _this_?" He clapped his hands in mock surprise. "Oh _my_ it's from one of the agency's on the blacklist for selling contraband Mako-batteries in the slums. Oh dear, oh dear. It's almost as if you've been making a profit on the side by taking kick-backs from illegal power-tappers."

Frank turned the color of stewed cabbage. "That's… just… unsolicited mail! You know how those agencies like to spam potential targets!"

Rufus twirled in the man's oversized swivel chair. "Hmmm, yes, they _do_ do that. And it looks _so bad_ for one of us when we respond to them, even by accident." He stopped himself with a heavy boot on the desk. "And it especially looks bad when your productivity has been just slightly _under_, not over, the other reactors, even when your equipment is obviously in mint condition."

Frank swallowed, and the president's false smile turned chilly. "You've been letting the skimmers in right under your nose, Frank. You've been selling _Mako power_ out the back door with the serial numbers filed off. Shinra does not appreciate losing 10% every year to the black market, nor the scheming little weasels that encourage it." He enunciated every word very carefully, letting them sink in.

The superintendent glowered at the baby-faced CEO confiscating his expensive wood desk. "Well, this is completely unnecessary, and frankly, offensive. You're calling me out like I'm some kind of _traitor!_ When President Shinra was alive, this sort of thing was par for the course! As long as the wheels were turning, he didn't bother to sweat the small stuff. You could learn a thing or two from him!"

Rufus lunged. Frank suddenly found himself being choked by his checkered silk tie while nose-to-nose with the young senior executive.

"You say that again and I will push you into the reactor myself."

The silence between them was as bone chilling as freezing rain in early winter. The tie around the reactor manager's neck made it impossible for him to swallow or speak, so he simply nodded meekly, eyes wide. Rufus let go, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"The fine for illegal power-tapping or the facilitation thereof is $50,000 gil per offense. You have today to clean out your desk. Good luck finding employment in the slums, because no respectable company is going to touch you now, Frank. Have a nice day."

Rufus paused on his way out the door. "You know, I will have one of those cookies." He savored each bite on his way back to the helicopter.

* * *

"What I'm saying is," bristled Heidegger, his meaty hand spread on the table, "Shinra hasn't been just an _electric company_ in decades. Shinra is the only thing keeping this world in order! It's a government—a _kingdom_, if you like. It doesn't have to be subject to the laws it lays down; a kingdom is only affected by the forces of war and usurpers."

Scarlet exhaled a long serpenty cloud of smoke. "I'm with you."

Heidegger was a stupid, violent, brute of a man full of the last century's prejudices. He paraded himself about the halls of Shinra Inc with an inflated sense of importance and privilege, expecting the world to conform to his outdated expectations, and bullying everyone that didn't comply. He had a volcanic temper that caused him to physically abuse anyone who so much as pricked his ego, and the authority to extricate himself from any consequences.

So it was a good thing that Scarlet was attracted to violent men, or their relationship would never have worked.

As things stood, his many foibles simply meant he was easier for her to manipulate, winding him around her exquisitely manicured little finger until he did her bidding, thinking all along that he was in charge.

"Right—well, what I'm saying is that protection under the law is only viable if you haven't placed yourself _above_ it." Heidegger gesticulated, having obviously prepared his material in advance to impress her. "If you've done that, then it's just a matter of who can take your power from you. Whoever holds the throne decides what is and what is not allowable. So, what is to stop us…" the giant uniformed man continued, using his most reasonable and mentoring tones, "From just _taking the throne?_" He leaned back, looking expectant.

"Baby…" Scarlet droned, "What's stopping us is that we don't have the firepower." She sucked on the tip of her filtered cigarette. "That smarmy little demagogue just wiggled all of SOLDIER out from under you. It's a separate division now, and all you've got to work with are the MEUs and the police. Oh, and lest we forget—" she tapped her ash languidly into a glass tray, "Who the hell wants to run this crumbly turd of a 'kingdom' anyway? I sure don't."

"We'd let the mayor do it!" Heidegger waved his arms. "He's already pushing papers around on his desk convincingly enough! Who says a Shinra has to run Shinra Inc? We'd be able to run this place fine without kowtowing to some cream-fed industrialist!"

"Our little milquetoast mayor is going to manage the business of the whole empire? I don't think so, sugar."

"TO HELL WITH HIM, _we'd_ manage everything behind the curtain!" Heidegger's ham-fisted temper shook the table.

"Easy there tiger." Scarlet smirked, unmoved by the display. "You just haven't thought this through enough…" She stood, her red silk dress falling off the curve of her hip like a bloody waterfall.

"Well, what would you have us do?" scowled the brigadier-general, "Just let a _child_ and an upstart trample over the established order? Do we let the tea-drinkers take away our power?"

Scarlet draped herself over the man's mountainous shoulders, digging her red-tipped fingers into their flesh and massaging them like a pleased cat. "No, no, no James, you're missing the point," she cooed. "All we need to do is reassert ourselves a bit here…"

"Oh?"

"The president is just a _baby_. He'll grow up soon enough, and trust me—he'll be the _spit_ of his old man, no matter how much they hated each other and no matter how much he tries to run away from it. He'll come around to how things work around here. We just have to be patient. Khushrenada, on the other hand…" a vinegary look curdled her chiseled face.

"FAH! What can that queer little boyscout do, anyway?" The grey-streaked beard shook with fury. "I knew him when he was still just Sephiroth's _bum boy_. I'll be damned if I let him pansy up my soldiers with his flowery ideas."

"That's the spirit, dear." Scarlet patted him affectionately. "But I wouldn't dismiss how dangerous he'll be if he really gets the president's ear. We should concentrate on making sure that _never happens_."

Heidegger growled. "This never would have happened if it weren't for Hojo and his damned science experiments… putting ideas into President Shinra's head about some fairytale Promised Land, conjuring up these monster-humans, breeding Sephiroth… We were all right back in the days when it was just weapons development and empire building! We'd plant a mako reactor, put all the other sad saps out of business, take over the area, and then rake in the profits… All we had to do was put down those piddly civilian rebellions and show the Wutaens who was boss now and then."

He swore and shook his massive head, beard swinging.

"Shinra had its _priorities_ straight back then! Now it's as if we have two competing Shinras—one for sensible traditionalists like us, and the other for mavericks and air-headed idealists!"

"It's a mess sweetie, I know. But we'll put it back the way it used to be, won't we daddy?" Scarlet pinched Heidegger's cheek, puckering her ruby lips. "We'll show Little Prez and his pet dandy who is boss, won't we? Now…" She eased herself onto his lap and crossed her long knife-shaped legs. "Tell me again how you used to subdue those naughty rebels…"

* * *

The Turks were well accustomed to the art of intimidation.

Even in the slums, where authority was bought with the tenuous coin of violent examples and brute strength, and where men in suits were not looked kindly upon, the Turks were given wide berth. Long before Rufus's day, the Turks had been around, cultivating their reputation as bogeymen and inspiring rumors of disappearances and bloodshed wherever they went, and their current members continued in that tradition.

Between them, Tseng and Reno had perfected their technique of terrorization; it was not so much 'good cop' vs 'bad cop' as it was 'pitiless and unmoved by human suffering cop' vs 'batshit crazy cop'. As a method for information retrieval and harassment, it had worked well for them in the past.

But Mrs. Gainsborough was a woman who was beyond intimidation.

They had done this dance before, and over the years, the pert, somewhat fussy matron had lost interest in humoring the dark-suited men with guns and electromag rods that so often invaded her home.

Today, she faced them down in her parlor, short, plump, and unmovable.

"Mr. Tseng," she snapped. "If Shinra has lost track of the whereabouts of my daughter, I _couldn't_ be happier." Her arms were folded and her foot tapped an irate tattoo, something which Reno had affectionately dubbed her 'war stance'.

"Mrs. Gainsborough…"

"My daughter is a fully grown, independent woman, Mr. Tseng. I do not keep her under _constant_ surveillance. That is not _my _job. I am her just her _mother._"

"But you _do_ know where she is, Mrs. Gainsborough. Aerith would never do anything to hurt or upset you. She hasn't been spotted in over a month- She must have told you where she was going. Why wouldn't she tell her own mother?"

"Well, for one thing because she knows that you two goons would come stomping all over my house, trying to get me to tell you where!"

Tseng closed his eyes, feeling a migraine coming on. "Elmyra- Mrs. Gainsborough…"

"Hey boss, let me handle it." Reno interrupted, leering at the staunch older woman. "So what if we told you we knew she'd been kidnapped? We were keepin' tabs on her up till now, but she got whisked away by some scary-ass dudes in black cloaks. Would you help us out then?"

Mrs. Gainsborough focused her austere rage on the Shinra agents in her kitchen.

"That is a lie, and we both know it. Why on earth should I even give you thugs the time of day?" she said slowly, each word as clear and as chilly as letters carved in a tombstone with their names on it.

"You, who have done nothing except consistently and aggressively violate our privacy, and have _threatened_ and _bullied_ a _child_ since her earliest years, and trespassed on the property of a single mother and widow who has never broken a law in her _life_! Why for the love of mercy, would I want your help with anything?"

Reno whistled appreciatively. "I dunno ma'am, you look like you'd enjoy a little civil disobedience now and then."

"If my daughter ever _was_ whisked away in the dark of night with no explanations, YOU would be the first people I'd suspect responsible!"

Tseng put a hand out to silence his subordinate. "Elmyra. You and I both know that my employers won't be satisfied until the girl is located. I don't need to remind you how important she is to the Company."

Mrs. Gainsborough's flashed and she herding them towards the exit with her stout arms. "Frankly Mr. Turk Leader, I don't give a damn about your Company. This is MY daughter you're talking about, and if you have any human decency left in your murderous, paper-pushing souls, then you will get out of my house and leave me in _peace_!"

Tseng suddenly found himself on the porch with a quaint wooden door slamming inches from his nose. If he'd wanted to force the issue there were other, more medieval ways of getting the information, but he had never been an excessive man. He could wait.

"I'm developing a crush on that woman." Reno sighed, hand reverently on his chest. "What a cougar."

"You wouldn't last a day. She'd wear your scalp on her apron."

"Yeah…" Reno sighed and put a cigarette out on his tongue with a short-fused sizzle. Tseng winced as his manic partner grinned, flicking the extinguished butt into a nearby flowerbed.

"Self-inflicted damage isn't covered in your benefits for a reason, Reno."

The Turk scratched his chin. "I can't help what hurts good."

"You're revolting." Tseng wrinkled his nose, turning his attention back to the situation at hand.

In truth, the director was feeling more than a little disturbed by the whole situation. Surveillance of the Cetra girl had become more than just a duty to him; it was a tradition by now, his house calls like the seasonal visitations of a holiday spook.

The girl's sudden disappearance and her mother's reluctance to talk made him wary; if Aerith had fallen into the wrong hands, the expense to the Company could be considerable, and he might no longer have the luxury of dealing with the Gainsboroughs as leniently as he would prefer.

More than that, Tseng was worried. Aerith's occasional bursts of preternatural wisdom and alarming ability to predict distant events merely added to her peculiar charm, and some spice to the days he called upon the little salvage-wood house or the church in the slums. If his visits had never exactly pleased her, at least the girl had become accustomed to him as a constant fixture in her life. She'd started to be almost friendly. He didn't like to think it, but he'd even grown a little protective of the girl.

_Young woman._ Tseng thought. _Not really a girl anymore at all._

"Yo, why don't we just bag us some AVALANCHE guys? She might be running with them again."

The oncoming migraine sunk its teeth in deeper. "If she were, we'd have found her by now. We have tabs on the remainder of AVALANCHE. Intelligence spotted them outside of the Cosmo Canyon area. She wasn't with them."

Reno snorted. "Might still be worth pulling out some of their fingernails just in case."

"This is too recent for them to be involved. Anyway, she left them voluntarily. Why would she join them again now?"

"Beats the hell out of me- but we're sure not making a lot of progress down here. It's like she vanished into the thick air." The redhead inhaled the pea-soup industrial fog and bounced his electromag rod thoughtfully on one shoulder. "Could it have been an inside job?"

Tseng frowned. "An inside job that didn't involve us, Reno?"

"Yeah, good point. I'm just sayin', we've got some new faces around."

"The SOLDIER General, you mean."

Reno shrugged. "He's getting awfully cozy with the Boss lately."

"You don't trust him?"

"Do you?"

"Rufus seems to. And questioning the president is not part of my job description." The director pulled a streamlined cellphone out of his pocket and hailed their ride. "He defended Headquarters from Sephiroth, which is enough proof of his loyalty for most. Either way, the general hasn't been informed of the Neo-Midgar operation, nor does he seem to have an interest in our affairs."

"I don't know, sir. He puts my teeth on edge."

"Reserve your suspicion for where it counts." The director cautioned. "Treize may have different priorities than the other departments; but the last Ancient is an attractive target for a lot of people. There are dozens of more interested parties with greater motivations than him in this matter. Until he acts, we have no reason to assume that he's anything more than an inspired speechmaker with some unusually progressive ideas for a Romafellor."

"Oh boy. Posh people and speeches. My favorite things." Reno grimaced. "Ugh—just look at that…"

They passed a wall full of angry red, spray-painted hieroglyphs of a tiny man stuck inside a light bulb, and a poster with a caption that read '_Shinra: Working hard to ensure an entire generation is reborn in lamps._' The Turk kicked a soda can off into the oily darkness.

"Everyone's a goddamn philosopher these days."

* * *

The Shinra parade grounds were dotted with evenly spaced, marching figures. From far above on the second floor promenade, a person could be forgiven for imagining black and white squares underneath the drill, each player passing and circling each other, moving backwards and forwards, changing order in perfect, synchronized geometry.

"How many SOLDIERS of First Class ranking do we currently have, Lt. Colonel?"

"Counting yourself, sir? Thirty. Some of them are stationed outside the capitol."

"And the rest?" The general had his back towards his second in command, looking over the railing to the parade grounds below.

"One hundred and four in Second Class; and another hundred and forty in Third Class, as of last week's graduation."

"That's 272, excluding ourselves." He put a finger to his cheek, thoughtful. "More than sufficient. There are 30 divisions of Midgar Enforcement Units in the city, are there not?"

Lt. Col. Maxwell Andras regarded his superior officer, a clipboard in hand. "You're not up to anything devious, are you sir?" He grinned under the plate of his monocular helmet. "Shame on you if you're keeping secrets from me."

"Hah." General Treize turned with a heavy swirl of his half-cape. "I'd like to recall all First Class SOLDIERS. Have one stationed in each MEU division, with a contingent of Second and Third class members... Five should be enough."

Lt Col Andras stood an inch taller than the general, though his profile had changed considerably since they'd met in basic training. He was gaunt, nearly emaciated, but anyone who had been unfortunate enough to test him soon discovered the vicious strength contained within his wiry muscles. He wore a close fitting black suit that covered him from collar to toe, striped with four neon blue lines that ran along the contours of his limbs, across the metal epaulettes that covered his shoulders and connecting to an angular breastplate on his chest. Since enduring the embarrassment of basic training, Maxwell had taken to wearing his distinctive long hair in a braid, containing it rather than cutting it.

Mako treatments had not been kind to Maxwell.

When they'd first met as cadets, the boys had been separated by class and income and had nothing civil to say to one another. By the time they'd started Second-Phase they had considered each other friends-but Maxwell had been hauled away in a stretcher with green foam leaking from his eyes and mouth, and they had not been reunited until many years later. Along with a percentage of recruits, he'd reacted to the tests unfavorably, and had vanished from the graduating class. But the Shinra Science Department was notoriously reluctant to throw anything away for good. There was always something you could make out of leftover material…

Max had been immersed in a Shinra secret that ran deeper than the graft and violence above ground.

"Five SOLDIERS in each unit, hm?" Lt. Andras stroked his angular jaw, the only part of his face visible beneath his dehumanizing helmet. "That would be plenty… if say, you needed to neutralize the unit from within."

"I imagine it would be, were that the intent," his friend and commanding officer replied, enigmatic.

"You look particularly happy today, sir, if I may say so," chirped the Deepground soldier with casual pluckiness. "Did we have a pleasant evening yesterday?"

"…Yes. I did." Treize returned his gaze to the drills below on the courtyard, leaning on the balustrade. "We'll see what comes of it."


	6. 12 Inches Across, 2,000 Feet Down

"We are building a religion

We are building it bigger

We are widening the corridors

And adding more lanes."

–'_Comfort Eagle', Cake_

**12 Inches Across, 2,000 Feet Down**

The president's phone lay abandoned and chirping atop a neat stack of folders, it's cheery holding music finally giving way to the frantic alarm of a dropped call.

Rufus swore, slamming it back on its cradle with a disgusted snort. Ten minutes he'd waited- scratching a hole in what had begun as a list of contacts, and ended as unflattering scribble portraits- _ten minutes_, and the call dropped.

Nothing screamed "we don't take the new management seriously" louder than call-waiting. Heads were going to _roll_.

The day had not gone well. It was the kind of hard work that he'd craved so desperately while sitting on his thumbs in exile; but today, under the harsh electric lights, every step dragged. Projects remained half finished, twice-revised safety codes had to be signed by parties indefinitely unavailable, and now some sector administrator had decided that his call wasn't a particularly high priority.

The room seemed not to have quite enough air. He was about to open a window onto the city and have a smoke, just to feel like he had finished _something_ that day, even if it was only a cigarette, when the phone rang.

Rufus's hand did a dance around the receiver for a moment, debating whether he wanted to hear the excuses or denials were waiting on the other end. He picked it up, flatly answering as he always did:

"What?"

_ "Rufus Shinra, what a pleasure. I'm glad I caught you in your office."_

The president stopped in mid irritated pace. "Treize."

Days had passed since their last encounter; the charged evening of personal and political feints that had seemed so exhausting, and yet curiously satisfying. Hearing the general's voice brought back a flood of sensory memories of that evening, and something that had been winding ever tighter inside him all week suddenly unwound.

Rufus massaged his temples. "I haven't been anywhere else since Monday. It's been busy. I hardly noticed."

"_How dreadful. But you must be finishing soon? Our last venture was most stimulating; I can't remember the last time someone so thoroughly thrashed me at chess._"

"Likewise."

Treize laughed. "_I'm honored to have had the privilege. Rufus, might we continue our conversation in person? I feel we have certain matters between us that bear further discussion. __Would you meet me somewhere?_"

Rufus curled the white plastic phone cord around his fingers. "-No."

A protracted, static-filled pause followed in the wake of the refusal, perhaps just long enough to make Treize fidget. "You meet _me_. Front of Shinra HQ, half an hour. Can you manage?"

_ "Of course. Do you have something up your sleeve?" _

The president gave a clipped laugh and hung up the phone. _Let the suave bastard wonder,_ he thought.

No sooner had he begun to enjoy the rising quality of his mood and started work again than another call interrupted him, this time on his personal cell. Its matte black screen contained a single name. Rufus flipped it open without further delay.

"Tseng."

"_Good evening_ _sir. Reno and I are returning from Sector 5. The Ancient is still missing. Her mother claims to have no knowledge of her whereabouts_."

Rufus tapped his foot. "What do you mean, 'claims'?"

"_When we spoke she seemed to know why the girl had left. I suspect Elmyra may know the purpose, but not the destination of the departure. She was being particularly uncooperative today, sir."_

"You're saying you were cowed by an old church lady from Sector 5?" The president snorted. "Letting the Ancient go skipping off to the far corners of the globe whenever she feels like it isn't an option. _Neo-Midgar_ isn't an option. You're going to have to do better than this, Tseng."

"_Yes, sir. But if I may-"_

"What?"

There was a brief, crackling pause. "_Pressing Mrs. Gainsborough for more information will likely lead to a dead end. She really may not know where the girl is, and if we force her to talk, then she will be reluctant to share information with us in the future. Shinra should remain a resource to her. If the girl is in trouble, Elmyra may come to us for help, but if we've made ourselves disagreeable to her, she may turn to Avalanche or similar groups."_

Rufus scowled. "Do whatever you need to do, but remember I'm expecting results. If we don't catch wind of the girl soon, you're going to have to twist some arms."

"_Yes sir, I understand."_

"Good. Oh, and speaking of which—I need you to pay a call on Sector 3's Administrative Office. Remind them who is in charge."

The call ended with a 'blip'.

Rufus folded his hands thoughtfully and glanced at the clock. Time to go.

* * *

The glass executive elevator that traveled down the edge of Shinra HQ was slow, and it required anyone using it to leave a few minutes early for any appointment.

It was technically available to anyone with special clearance, but Rufus felt a certain personal connection with this elevator. Unlike the other lifts in HQ, it made him feel safe, free, and able to breathe. It also provided him with an excellent view of the city. Thank god for his elevator.

In the shadow of Shinra Headquarters, street grids scrolled away from the Hub, their industrious noise overlaid by a souring wind that swept around the tower and across the massive steel plate. The city floated on and suffocated beneath this segregating structure. Underneath, the perpetual twilight of pillars and the slate-gray ceiling loomed above residents and monsters alike; up above, the air was cool and humid under a brilliant red sundown sky.

Shinra's executive scion finally touched down on the ground floor, exited his building, and descended the wide front steps of HQ. He found Treize waiting for him near the bottom, wearing his full military regalia.

The president had been born and bred an urban creature, pale and quick and accustomed to polished surfaces. His city flattered him; he appeared natural amidst the sleek urban landscape of white sidewalks and black asphalt.

Treize on the other hand, looked as out of place as a peacock in an aquarium.

"You're an easy man to spot, general." Rufus shot a disparaging glance skyward before descending the steps, as if embarrassed by the existence of such flamboyance.

"Would you prefer me camouflaged?" The general grinned, obviously as at ease with his eccentric professional appearance as Rufus was with his.

"I'd settle for you dressing like a civilian when you're not working."

As they met Treize shook Rufus's hand warmly. "As if we are ever not working!" Standing one step below him, the two men were nearly eye to eye. "I confess, I had hoped to lure you into distraction with another meal, but you seem to have something more specific in mind."

"I do." The president tucked his hands in his pockets smugly, something in his expression hinting at mischief.

Not bothering to explain himself further, he began walking smartly down the city street in the direction of Shinra HQ's car lot.

Treize followed two paces behind. "Do you have a destination in mind, or are we just to have a pleasant stroll around your very charming city?"

Rufus detected a hint of sarcasm but chose to ignore it as he stepped into a sleek, waiting Shinra cab. "You'll see. Come on—it's a great day for a drive!"

The car took them southwest, where the businesses, restaurants and clubhouses of the Hub gave way to upscale apartments in the old, now-gentrified, factory district. These in turn became new construction nearest the outer edge of Sector 6. Above it all lofted the titan-scaled pillars of The Rim Highway, casting long shadows across the streets and sidewalks of Midgar below.

Cement processing plants, machineries, weapon manufacturers, and old oil refineries that had been remodeled for mako storage all rose in a graceful, geometric jungle above the streets. Unbroken lines of windows glittered half opaque with a fine layer of residue from smog and dust, the paint still fresh on the hulls of giant silos, their virgin walls free of graffiti.

Upper Sector 6 was a showcase for the cathedrals of industry; Rufus found it was the best place to take the air when he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He loved the sound of factories working at night, the square windows glowing and smokestacks issuing white plumes against the purple night sky, when the red dots outlining each antenna tower shown so much brighter than the few, dim stars in the murky heavens.

Exiting the vehicle, Rufus felt himself breathing easier. They were far enough towards the extremity of the Upper Plate that a clear strip of blood red sky could be seen between the buildings. Above, thin clouds the color of warning signs seemed close enough to touch.

"I _think_ I see why you took me here for a chat. It's sort of dismally beautiful." Treize broke the silence in the shade of a serene steel mill. "This district has a certain… utilitarian appeal. Form fitting function and all that…" He surveyed the network of chutes and rails with detached interest.

"Oh, we're not there yet!" Rufus looked over at his companion, enjoying the reversal of their previous encounter. He felt not one bit guilty for prolonging his guest's discomfort at the surroundings; turnabout was fair play, after all. "I like to take walks out here afterhours. In the slums too, sometimes."

The aristocrat looked slightly shocked. "Isn't that a bit dangerous? For someone in your position?"

Rufus gave a self-satisfied huff. "Don't worry. That's not where I'm taking _you_. You'd never survive the public transport."

The railway system of the slums was notoriously unsanitary, frequently delayed, and often dangerously overcrowded.

It had become so under the previous administrator, who hadn't felt the need to adjust for the increasing population and rise in unemployment over the years. It was one of the many things Rufus planned on improving. Doubling the ticket fees, for instance, would probably pay for the renovations and cut down on the over-crowding. If the trains became unaffordable to some percentage of the populace, well then, god had given people feet for a reason.

Treize chuckled. "I've spent plenty of time on the trains, sir. Inter-Plate transport patrols make up a frighteningly large portion of a SOLDIER trainee's agenda."

"Oh yeah." The president cleared his throat. "That's right. I forgot you're a soldier, under all that... well." He made a gesture that roughly encompassed the general's person, gold braid and all. "Anyway, that training will come in handy in a few minutes."

Their path wound through the space between two warehouses and over a pile of concrete rubble, culminating in a tall, rusted iron ladder that reached up to the top of the Sector's dividing wall.

Rufus clapped his hands together and started to climb, savoring the look on Treize's upturned face.

"Coming, general?"

"Is _this_ where we're going to talk?"

"That's right." He looked down from the ladder, smirking. "Follow me."

Treize took a hold of a rusty rung and after a moment's pause, pulled himself upwards.

As he emerged on the top of the sector wall, the wind caught Rufus's long white vest and whipped it around his legs.

The outer edge of the slums could be seen sprawling out from under the shadow of the plate in the distance; trash heaps and shanties and encampments, spaces cleared out for recreation or impromptu commerce, all reduced to perfect miniatures. Beyond that, pale grassland, losing color as the sun set further down. Lights were starting to flicker on by the hundreds in the decaying metropolis below.

Rufus brushed the blonde hair out of his face, inhaled the crisp air, and spread his hands out wide with clenched fists. Behind him, Treize appeared incrementally over the ladder and stepped onto the cement stoop, dusting off his hands.

"Beautiful…!" Rufus shouted over the wind that threatened to sweep him and his words away. "This. Here- " His finger jabbed at the ground. "_This_ is beautiful. Doesn't it make you feel alive? One little strip of concrete separating us- from all _that_…"

The distance from their perch to the earth was dizzyingly apparent; the day's last birds flew under the plate, so far away they looked like insects.

Treize inclined towards the edge and looked down the 2,000-foot drop. There was nothing but a few cables and old power lines breaking the view on the way down. He inhaled sharply, straightening his back to keep balance.

"You have an unusual sense of humor, sir."

Rufus moved to the very edge of the platform attached to the wall, shoes sending flecks of concrete sand cascading over the precipice. Ice blue eyes turned toward the general, and at the edge of the world with a 150-story fall inches away, there was something truly electric in them.

"There-" One hand gestured to the wall running along the sector's edge. Along the rim there was a kind of workman's catwalk, a short railing bolted to one side, just spindly enough that it rattled in the top winds. "Up there is what I want to show you."

Rufus took a moment to savor the general's expression.

"Well…" Said Treize, wetting his lips, "this certainly isn't where I pictured myself ending up when I accepted your invitation." Then he filled his lungs and stepped off the concrete onto the narrow rusted walkway and tried not to look down.

Flashing orange, the sun disappeared over the hazy skyline at last and the air picked up a chilly sting. The way was not as treacherous as it looked, though the wind blew with worrying intensity.

"Is there a reason you're making me go first?" Treize laughed. He turned on a heel and walked backwards just to show Rufus he wasn't overly intimidated. "Other than to test if my training is still sharp?"

"Well, I could push you off. But going through two generals in one term would just be embarrassing." Rufus suddenly lunged a hand forward and caught Treize by the arm. "Watch out, by the way."

Both railing and wall came to an abrupt stop, twisting out into an abyss of blackened metal. The general's polished boots were precariously close to the edge. To his credit, Treize did not clutch the railing or pinwheel madly to regain balance, but it was several seconds before he remembered to exhale.

They'd reached the wreck of Sector 7.

Rufus came up close behind him, scanning the horizon and the spotlights that danced over the destruction below. Inside the Upper Plate, webs of caution tape, temporary fencing, and warning signs clogged the sidewalks and streets.

"Sickening, isn't it?"

The president's lips were set to a tight line; he looked like someone trying not to show disgust over a diseased relative; sympathetic but pale.

"I considered leaving Sector 7 like this… paving the whole thing over below and not rebuilding the plate. Midgar would have a flawed disc to reflect flawed times, something to remind me of my responsibilities to this city. But to the people of the slums, the memory of Sector 7 won't be so easily smoothed over. Many think I don't care about the slums, but that just isn't true." He shook his head. "I do care. More than my father did. In fact, I have more of a vested interest in the slums than I do in the Upper Plate."

"Oh?" Treize looked out somberly on the pit where the city once stood.

Rufus shrugged. "The Upper Plate runs by itself just fine. But down here it's complete chaos; towns overrun by monsters and science experiments, crime rate skyrocketing, trains running off schedule, illegal power tapping, anti-Shinra terrorists lurking around every corner… Destruction can be a wonderful opportunity for advancement… "

Treize's eyes narrowed considerably at this, but he said nothing in response.

"I want to rebuild this sector, Treize;" Rufus continued, "make it more efficient and productive than the other six… Disorganization is a breeding ground for rebellion, but with a standardized system in place for society to grow around, enforcing law and controlling the populace become much simpler."

Rufus gestured to the blinking lights below; "For example, if every slum family lived in Shinra-sanctioned housing, and if every business operated out of a licensed, monitored facility, then groups like AVALANCHE would have nothing to work with, nowhere to hide…"

He paused, eyeing his companion for signs of assent or disagreement. Finding neither, he decided to take a risk:

"That's the reasoning behind my plans for Neo Midgar as well. Start fresh. Build smarter… My father had big dreams about the Promised Land—but I am going to _find it_, and then I am going to build a _city_ on it. And that city is going to be everything Midgar never had a chance to be; organized, energized, and productive from top to bottom…"

The general said nothing after his speech.

"Oh, _What_?" Rufus barked feeling suddenly sheepish, and therefore cruel. "Don't tell me you're one of those people who believes that quasi-mystical bullshit about the Promised Land being full of happy souls and the ghosts of everyone's pet cats and grannies."

Treize shook his head; "I have no special beliefs regarding the Promised Land, sir. I have no particular religious attachments towards anything. Forgive my silence, I was merely thinking."

Rufus felt his face flushing, and turned quickly towards the city again. He'd brought the general up here to take him out of his comfort zone—shake him up a bit. It was infuriating finding that it was himself that was flustered. He decided not to wait for a reply.

"Whatever. As long as I'm president of Shinra, big things are going to happen… But my point is- right now I _can't make any headway!_" His gloved fist struck the opposing palm for emphasis. "All these petty little Sector admins and their _legislation, _the whining press, and the whole damn board of directors sitting there like leeches, busily thinking of ways to strong-arm me back into my father's policies…"

Rufus turned to his general, eyes bright; "I am tripping on my own company with every step… trying to get the funds freed up for this project, or anything else, is a literal nightmare. Everyone's got their sweaty palms around a fat chunk of Shinra's budget and they keep begging me for more."

Rufus turned his back to the abyss and the city, his silhouette cutting a dark hole in the sea of pinprick lights. "There's too much _democracy_ in the air. I don't like it. It's hindering progress. That's why I asked you to come out here; to talk to you about progress."

"You want an ally."

"I want, Treize, for SOLDIER to be with me, along with the Turks, so I can intimidate the fuck out of my old man's henchmen." Rufus said in a cutting tone. "If you really are interested in getting on my good side, Treize, and you seem to be… then help me break up the blockade. You don't seem to care what the others think of you. That's useful to me; Shinra needs all the fresh blood it can get."

"Regardless of that…" the general shook his head, "Scarlet, Heidegger, Hojo, Palmer, Reeve… they are not going to go quietly. Any attempt to reduce their power, and they might retaliate, or worse, take their weapons or their expertise and sell them to the highest bidder."

"So kill them." Rufus shrugged. "Clean house. No one's swept more assassinations under the carpet than Shinra."

The aristocratic nostrils flared slightly, the noble chin raising a fraction of an inch with distaste for the president's turn of phrase. _Good._ Rufus thought. _He's offended. Means he's human. I was starting to worry._

Rufus rolled his eyes, waving a pale hand dismissively. "Or, you know… If you find a way to get them to willingly retire, be my guest. But I don't see that happening, do you?"

He decided to change tack:

"You and I both know that if Heidegger had his way, SOLDIER would just fall into his pocket and merge with Public Safety and Defense, and you'd be out of a job." He smiled darkly, spreading his hands. "I'm willing to watch your back if you watch mine. It's a good offer."

"…And a _threat_, I believe." Treize finished, dryly. "You needn't threaten me to get me on your side, Rufus… As you say, I've already made my interest in you clear. But a word of warning about me:" The general met his eyes, unblinking, "I make a better friend than I do an ally."

Rufus felt his gall rising, suddenly paranoid that he'd been made the butt of some personal joke. "I don't have _friends_, Treize," he scowled, "I have employees, I have sycophants, and I have grudging supporters. Everyone else is an enemy. So if you're telling me that you're not one of those-"

"If you want me to prove I'm no sycophant, I'll be completely honest with you." The general cut him off. "I find your lack of concern for civilian safety worrisome, and your disregard for human dignity repulsive. Also, your aesthetic preferences couldn't be more different than my own... but frankly, that's attractive to me."

Rufus's brow knitted. "Wha-?"

Treize raised a hand, continuing before he could object. "But I concede that you are efficient; you follow a course of your own making, and you follow it without distraction. You understand the workings of this city better than anyone… This makes your proposition much more tenable."

The president's face tried on several emotions at once, none of them fitting. "What the hell do you mean?"

"I'm saying…" Treize lowered his head with a short laugh, "I'm saying that as your friend, I will of course look out for your well-being. I can offer you support, advice, and assistance achieving your goal…" he let the word hang. "-But in my capacity as your general, I have everything to gain by siding with the board against you. Not that I'd want to throw my hat in with jackals, but you see my point."

Rufus glared, suddenly glad of the rickety support railing. "No, not really—if we agree that Department Heads need taking out, why do we have to be the best of pals?"

Treize sighed. "Because unless you trust me, and vice versa, then our alliance will be very short lived. Revolutions have a way of eating their makers; after the coup is finished, how am I to be sure I will not be caught in the undertow?"

He reached out in the same troubling and open way as he had the day of their first meeting. The wind drew the general's cape out like a slow, dark sail.

"We have, at the moment, very similar aims and a complimentary set of skills: You have the knowledge required to steer the ship, while I have the power to remove the obstacles in your path." Treize said calmly.

"As a soldier, my approval of your conduct is of little consequence; you are my commander in chief. But my friendship _is_ contingent on that approval. Do you see?" His cobalt eyes sparkled. "In order to gain me in that capacity, we will have to come to a better understanding of each other…"

A searchlight from the ruined city caught his eyes and reflected back a brief, animal glow.

"You _need_ my friendship right now, Rufus—and I want to give it to you."

Somewhere far below them a siren wailed into the night, chilling and exhilarating. Rufus could not tell if it was a sound of warning or of something sparking to life. He reached out, his hesitant fingers curling back before making contact with the general's offered hand.

"It's late. We should get off this ledge before one of us takes a fall."


	7. Closet Monsters

"I want to be someone else or I'll explode;

Floating upon the surface for

the birds…"

_-'Talk Show Host', Radiohead_

**Closet Monsters**

There were perks to working at Shinra: good pay, medical, upper-plate housing, paid sick-leave, free coffee, reasonable job security as long as you kept your head down. There was water-cooler camaraderie and sometimes, romance. The lobby receptionist girls tended to wear extra short A-line skirts. Casual Fridays were a long-standing tradition. There were office parties. Pranks.

But there were also downsides, as with any job. The upper-floor guys were obnoxious and greedy, the building was always slightly too cold, paid vacations were a thing of fairytales, and of course, occasionally, you had those bad days when a toxin-slavering, many-eyed beast would escape from the basements and tear through the ground floors in a panic-fueled rage. This was one of the bad days.

"Goddamnit where are those science gooks when you need them?" The ground floor manager panted, wiping his streaming forehead. "Did anyone see where… where that _thing _went?"

One of the lobby girls was on the floor, bleeding from a series of shallow wounds in her calf. She pointed shakily to a nearby maintenance closet, unable to speak. The creature had apparently bowled her over, skidded into a potted office plant (now obliterated on the floor), and slammed through the narrow door into the closet, leaving a trail of scattered claw marks and scarred metal. The door to the closet hung off its hinges, creaking ominously. The inside of the small room was dark, lit by occasional sparks.

"Oh for fuck's sake! You let it into the room with the _breakers?_" The manager groaned. "It could knock out the power for the whole _floor_ in there! Somebody please tell me it just went in there to die!"

"Everyone, please remain calm! Not to worry! We're getting the situation under control!" A small man in a white lab coat and red Shinra insignia jogged into the area, accompanied by two Midgar Public Safety Enforcement Officers. "Nothing to worry about, it's just a lab animal! We can deal with this like rational, reasoning human beings, can't we? Of course we can!" The petite scientist bounced over to the manager expectantly. "Now, how can I help?"

"_What took you so long?_ That thing mauled two receptionists and an electrician, and now it's in fucking electrical closet! It's probably gnawing on cables as we speak!"

The short little man put a finger to his lips. "Sssh, now, let's keep our voices down. We don't want to startle it further. Remember, it's probably more scared of you than you are of it."

"Oh, well… that's something, I suppose."

"Though, _it_ has projectile acid-venom sacs and ten-inch spikes along its spine, and _will_ become aggressive if frightened. So, that's… not actually to your benefit I'm afraid." The scientist leaned to one side apologetically.

"Um."

"I'm going to try a passive approach; try to, as we say, lure the little fellow out. Yes." His voice got progressively softer and more coaxing as he crouched and approached the doorway. "Hey there! Hello, he-llo you little rascal. Come out! That's right, be a good monster. Here we go. Come on! That's it! Alllmoosst-"

There was a sort of gurgling, hissing screech from the closet, followed by a fizzing sound and an acrid stench. The lights in the lobby dimmed sharply and flickered.

"Oh! Oh let's not chew that, shall we? That's a bad, _bad_ thing to do! Stop it and come out at once, or I'll have to get the net. We don't like the net, do we?" Scolded the little man in white. He beckoned to one of the MEUs who wielded an apparatus shaped something like a rocket launcher. The door was nudged open so that the scientist could reach in and turn on a light. The ground floor manager and the bleeding receptionist both began edging towards the wall.

The light switched on. The door exploded outward. The MEU's rocket propelled net released with a tremendous BANG, sending a whirlwind of mesh into the closet, missing its target. A sinewy, impossibly lithe creature with a red mane and three dead eyes tumbled into the lobby, claws scrambling to find purchase on the tile floor. Its face was bat-nosed and almost entirely transected by a razor-filled mouth that oozed corrosive bile. Despite it's horrific appearance, it was obviously terrified. As employees and visitors screamed and headed for the stairs and exits, the second MEU opened fire on the demonic creature.

"Oh no, NO! Don't _shoot_ it, you oaf! Professor Hojo needs it for further testing!"

The scientist's pleas were ignored, and the creature shrieked in pain and terror, whipping around with crazy gyroscopic momentum and careening across the room. The rain of bullets lagged behind its trajectory, devastating the room's posh, corporate interior. The animal's snarling, stampeding circles sent it half way up the red-carpeted stairs, back down over the railing, and through the sitting area, toppling vending machines and plush chairs in its wake. The gunfire chased it across the hall and finally, twisting madly and making a final run for it, the beast launched itself head long through the glass paneling of the executive elevator.

The crystal panes turned opaque and fell in a sheet like melting half-melted ice, covering the beast with glinting shards. It writhed and flopped in place as clip after clip was unloaded into its hide, greenish black blood spattering the inside of the elevator like spilled ink. Eventually, it was still.

The floor manager drew breath, unclenched his fingers and dared to close his mouth. "Is it…dead?"

Gun still at the ready, the MEU paced slowly towards the elevator, boots crunching across the glass. He nudged the animal's head with his gun barrel; it rose and limply dropped, lifeless. The guard waved. "Yeah, it's toast."

"HOW. WHY. WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR!" The lab man waved his arms above his head. "That was our best breeding stud! Now I'll have to go trudging back to the sewers and find another one! OoohRRRR… Why, why did you go and kill it?" He said through clenched teeth, bending backward in a display of pure frustration.

"Th…The lobby." The floor manager choked. _My career. My life._ "Gone."

"It's okay, champ." The MEU thumped his helmet cheerily. "I'm sure we can get a clean-up squad down here and take care of this before—"

The doors to the main entrance opened and President of Shinra Inc walked through them.

* * *

It was long after dark by the time Rufus and the general returned to HQ. They had driven in relative silence since their high-altitude walk; they were both dusty and a great deal windswept, faces red from cold.

Treize lingered at the threshold of the Shinra building, unobtrusive. "Is this goodnight, sir?"

"Oh no. Hell no. You are staying. This is overtime." Rufus turned and thrust an accusing finger at him, treating the taller man with a stare both fascinated and calculating. "You are _not leaving_ until I understand what exactly you meant up there. You say we should come to a 'better understanding' of each other, well—here's your chance."

The general smiled, touched his chest and gave a small bow. "Of course, sir."

It was then that they noticed the overall commotion in the lobby.

"What the hell happened in here?"

Confused workers sporting various cuts, scrapes, and sweat-stains were huddled in a corner around a mangled potted plant, trying to look inconspicuous. Janitorial staff started arriving on the ground floor, placing orange warning cones around what looked like a warzone.

Rufus looked around him with a sub-zero glare, taking in the scratched floor, the bullet holes, and the upturned and shredded furniture around him, wondering if this would be reason enough to fire his entire staff. The scattering of employees and traumatized secretaries felt the roving eye of their boss pass over them like the angel of death brushing their heads with skeletal wings.

"I said. _What_. _Happened_. _Here_." The president's voice echoed across the lobby. Several people flinched visibly.

A guard with a triple-lens helmet hurried over with a sheepish salute. "Sir! Sorry for the er, inconvenience, sir! There was a bit of an incident."

"I can see that." Rufus gritted.

"There was a break out from the Science Department. One of the lab specimens escaped. A, um…" The guard glanced at his clipboard. "A '_zenene'_? Anyway, one of those mutant hounds the department's been working on."

"I see. I take it the creature's been neutralized?" The president rubbed his temple.

"Yes... sir."

Rufus felt a suspicious foreboding that the other shoe had yet to drop. He looked around for the general. Treize was picking his way over a sea of powdered glass, nudging aside larger shards with his boot, investigating what had once been the glass elevator that was Rufus's exclusive means of transport.

A chill draft emitted from the alcove, along with a vaguely septic, corrosive odor. Rufus stepped forward. The guard stopped him.

"The um… elevator's out of order, sir."

Rufus's face grew ever so slightly paler than his already sallow complexion healthily allowed for.

"It looks like the enclosure was totally shattered, sir. And the thing spat some kind of acid everywhere… It's all er, over the floor."

"Is it." The president swallowed dryly. "So it's completely…"

Treize leaned through the broken doors of the elevator gondola, his long cape catching on the jagged teeth of glass. "Hm." He placed a handkerchief over his nose and mouth and crouched to look at the corpse of the animal inside. "Why on earth would Hojo be breeding these tragic creatures? Irresponsible." He shook his head and turned to back to Rufus.

"What an unfortunate incident. Will this preoccupy your evening or is my company still welcome?"

There was no answer. The white triangle of the president's coat remained still against the backdrop of activity. He was rooted in place, eyes on the glass-covered floor. Slowly, he inclined his head.

"Well then, I'm sure the staff won't mind if we use their elevator just this once. Otherwise, we should start on the stairs now before it gets too late." He chuckled and headed towards the second lift, expecting the blonde CEO to follow him.

The guard nodded. "Some of the main circuitry was damaged, but the regular lift seems to be working."

"80 flights up is a lot of stairs… I suppose we will have to take a staff elevator." Rufus repeated. It was intoned with as much humor as an answering machine message. Treize waited, puzzled, while the guard excused himself and went back to his duties. It took Rufus many long seconds before he turned around.

With a crisp "ding!" the hall elevator slid open; a small, dim, unadorned steel box awaiting occupants. Rufus made a point of stepping in before his companion, pressing the right topmost button with unnecessary force, the blood visibly leaving the tip of his thumb. His hands then disappeared into his coat pockets.

The door shut slowly, the light from the outside lobby narrowing by inches until it vanished with a pneumatic hiss. The president backed against the farthest panel from the door and watched, unblinking, as the green digital numbers counted up the floors.

Trieze glanced at him. "Are you alright?" He asked gently.

"Yes."

Rufus's hands inside his white coat pockets were balled into fists. Treize took note and raised an eyebrow.

You're sure?"

"Yes!" The young CEO's tone was suddenly petulant, and line of tension in his jaw betrayed the grinding of teeth. "I'm fine! Everything's fine."

The green-tinted lights flickered, once, then again. The president inhaled through his nose and did not release the breath. More worryingly, he withdrew a hand from his pocket on the pretense of rubbing his mouth, and began chewing the knuckle of his thumb. Treize frowned, putting a hand out to the president in concern.

"Rufus, are you sure—"

"Don't TOUCH ME."

The hand drew back in alarm.

"Does this elevator seem slow to you?" The blonde executive asked in a strained tenor, sweat beginning to bead unpleasantly on his forehead.

Treize opened his mouth to reply, and in the same moment the overhead lights winked off entirely, accompanied by a low, decrescendo hum as the elevator ground to an incremental halt. An acid green "57" glowed above the door, pulsing slightly in the otherwise unmitigated darkness. The number did not change, nor did the doors open.

The general sighed. "Well, there goes our lift. The circuits were damaged after all. We must be stuck between floors. Maybe the stairs wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all, eh?" As his eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, he heard the quick, animal breaths of unrestrained panic. "Sir…?"

Rufus couldn't hear him. The world had shrunk to three, blank walls around him and the panel in front of him, all dizzyingly, terrifyingly close. He pressed the button marked 'Open', to no effect- the lights behind the plastic discs had gone out along with the electricity required to make them perform.

He tried the numbers, then the door again, and then the red alarm switch. Nothing happened. The process repeated, and gradually simplified itself to the pressing of a single button over and over again.

"There are systems in place." Rufus kept his tone, flat, reasonable, and calm, though he barely heard himself over the roaring tide in his ears. "There are cameras on the main floor. Emergency mechanical override. Nothing to worry about."

"…Yes." Treize replied cautiously. "Nevertheless, you seem a little on edge?" he once again reached out to the president and brushed his shoulder.

"I SAID I'M FINE!" Rufus jerked away, shoving Treize violently away from him, sending the surprised man stumbling back into the reverberating side of the elevator. Rufus jammed his finger into the button rapid-fire, savage with frustration. "OPEN! _You_- _fucking_-…!" And he made a very small noise; a very quiet, involuntary sob. The sound sent a shiver down Treize's back, it was so helpless. The general's eyes adjusted to the miniscule amount of light, allowing him to see with the clarity only night birds and graduates from the SOLDIER program had, Rufus Shinra shaking silently in the dark.

" Rufus. The maintenance crew knows we're here. I'm sure they're working on a solution." Treize spoke with deliberate coolness, aware that some kind of train wreck was occurring unseen in the brain of his commander in chief.

"You don't know that. Why aren't they here already?" Rufus whispered, sweat trickling down into his collar. "There are systems in place. They should be here by now…" He choked, finding it inexplicably impossibly to breathe. "No, no, no, the air vents aren't working…!"

The wall drifted out from under his fingers, dream-like, and the floor rushed up at him in the nauseating darkness. He heard the general call out his name and there was a throbbing pain in his skull. His lungs refused to expand; they might as well have been a mile under the sea.

Suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, gripping too hard to be shaken off. Rufus's fists were curled so tight that his nails made bloody crescents in his palms, twitching like they were looking for something to punch, but he was too dizzy to lash out. His breath came in shallow, quick bursts, not enough to speak with, protesting in a miserable whisper that had no strength behind it. Rufus knew in some part of his mind that it would be less than an hour before the emergency power kicked in or someone came down the shaft to retrieve them; but the greater part of him was adrift in pure chemical terror. It screamed that he would suffocate and die here, that the elevator was a steel-jawed coffin wedged too tightly inside an impenetrable chute, that the air was running out, had _already_ run out.

"_Breathe_" coaxed a velvet voice in the darkness. "_Close your eyes_."

Rufus felt another body against his, oppressive and warm, but the human sound of it was a lifeline to his drowning conscience, pulling logical thought out of the rapids. He did as the voice commanded, and closed his eyes against the pulsing green and the encroaching walls. White hands grabbed onto Treize's lapels like they were the last thing between solid ground and a cliff's edge.

_ "Listen to me. Breathe. I am the only thing next to you. There are volumes of space between you and I and the walls. They are leagues away, hardly there at all." _

Lungs inhaled, exhaled again slowly, filled at last with stale atmosphere without choking.

_ "There's nothing but space here, much more than you think. We're out in the open, in unlimited air."_ Treize's voice was low and neutral, a mantra against panic.

_"We are at the top of the world, walking the edge, confined by nothing, almost floating. It's me that's close to you, and nothing more."_

By degrees, Rufus relinquished his death grip on Treize's lapels, leaning his head against the man's chest for support instead, eyes firmly shut. The air _was_ cooler, less congested than it had before, or was it his imagination?

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Treize asked, sad and quiet. "I'd have carried you up the stairs myself."

Rufus felt a cold, metal-smelling draft from above. It was not only in his mind- fresh air _was_ spilling in from the vents at last. He looked up eagerly, blonde bangs plastered to his face.

Lights came sputtering to life once more, the floor lurched, and the ghastly green specter of '57' finally reshaped itself into a '58', ticking away the progression of floors as the elevator resumed its delayed ascent.

Treize was already on his feet, the intimacy of the past few minutes vanishing with the darkness, the only evidence of its passing a small, mouse-footed dots of blood on his white uniform front, where the president's bleeding hands had clung.

A clarion note sounded as the lift's steel doors slid open, releasing its occupants at last. Rufus filled his lungs like a diver breaking the surface after long submersion. He barely stopped himself from sprinting into the beckoning open space. Instead, he sniffed, straightened his back, and put foot in front of the other with great calculation. He adjusted his sweat-soaked collar with hands that refused to stop quivering.

Treize stood unobtrusively behind him. "…Shall I escort you up?"

Rufus twitched his head to one side ambiguously. "If you like."

The two men took the stairs in silence. They were still one storey short of their destination; the top floor of Shinra HQ was not accessible from the staff elevators. From the executive lift, it was could only be accessed by a distinctive key-card that only the president and his personal retinue carried. The special floor rested atop president's office, at the very peak of the tower surveying the city; the private quarters of the senior executive officer of Shinra Electric Power.

It was a recent addition, added after Shinra Sr.'s second wife had divorced him and gone to live in the country. The old man had wanted to be as close to his work as possible, a sentiment shared by his only son, though Rufus had all but bulldozed the suite in order to have it conform to his tastes. The rooms were now sleek, expensive without being tawdry- modern, minimalist, and above all, they no longer reminded Rufus of his father.

He keyed in the password to his rooms carefully with uncooperative fingers and began to open the door, but hesitated. Ice blue eyes flickered a glance over one shoulder, not quite making contact with the general's.

Treize took a step backwards and bowed. "I understand. I'll excuse myself." He turned and headed back towards the staircase with a sedate swirl of his heavy cape.

"Wait, Treize."

The general paused in his descent. "Yes, sir?"

Rufus swallowed. "I would… appreciate your discretion about this."

"Of course."

"And thank you."

The taller man bowed his auburn head. "I wish you a restful evening sir. We'll have better luck next-"

"Friday." Rufus interjected firmly.

"Friday?" Treize blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Very well. I'd be delighted."

Rufus listened to the soft taps of military boots on the carpeted stairs as the general departed. He didn't trust himself to say anything or move for at least a minute. Something horrible was surging and rising up in him, a frothing tide of shame, adrenaline, and self-loathing, topped by a strange film of relief that the only person to witness his collapse was gone.

This thought was too much. Rufus ducked inside the door of his rooms, swung the door shut and slammed his back into the wall, sliding down slowly until his arms were tucked over his knees. His breath caught and came in shivering waves. He hated himself for being on the floor. He hated that he was in his room alone, trying not to cry, like a fucking tween. He hated that he'd allowed himself to be put in a position of weakness where someone could see—and not just anyone, but the man in charge of his armies. An _employee._

The situation had been preventable. He _could_ have taken the stairs, despite the irony. There had been other options available to him. He could have scoffed the idea of staying, and gone out to a bar or slept at a hotel. Hell, Treize might have offered to put him up for the night in his ridiculous fire-hazard of an estate. Surely there were guest rooms. But instead, with all the sense of a cow on a train-track, he'd chosen to test himself. Panic had put blinders on him—he could see no way around his fears and no way through them either.

It'd been years since he'd had an attack like that. Some foolish part of him had hoped that he'd grown out of it by now. What a mercilessly humiliating weakness.

_"I do not have the patience to put up with you right now. You are going to stay in here until you learn to manage yourself. Are you going to cry until you get your way? Are you a little princess? Damnit, don't you cry! Stay in there till you stop acting like a prima donna!"_

Locked in, he'd stayed in that little closet for hours; alone with himself, with nothing to distract him from his own terrible mind. He'd stayed until he'd stopped crying to be let out, and his father remembered that he was there.

_"Rufus, what are you doing playing hide-and-seek in the closet? You're such a strange boy sometimes. Stop being silly and come out, we have company." _

Lies. Convenient, smiling lies. Not because his father was deliberately cruel, but because it was an embarrassing thing to admit to in front of guests, that when he was angry with his son he locked the boy in a cupboard.

The ghost of that dark, stuffy closet was half the reason he surrounded himself so often with glass. Glass was sterile. Glass was cold, sharp, and transparent. Glass could keep the world out and still let you to watch it turn. Perfect.

Something soft bumped against Rufus's hand and purred. Rufus sniffed, wiped his eyes quickly and looked up, relief flooding his face. "Hey, D.N."

Darknation growled affectionately and curled a tentacle lazily on the floor like a question mark.

"It's okay. I just… had a tough day today, is all." He stroked the creature's inky black head, running his nails along its jaw line. "Good girl. It's okay. I'm alright now."

Rufus wrapped his arms round his pet's stout neck. He buried his face in her short fur, and for a brief moment, he felt entirely at peace.

* * *

"…But I take it the president was unharmed in tonight's little escaped-mystery-science-experiment drama?"

"Yes, Reeve. He was merely tired, and concerned about the cost of the damages. I've just come from seeing him off."

The director of Urban Development chuckled and nodded. "Sent him off to bed to stew on it till morning, eh? I hope we survive tomorrow."

"I can almost guarantee it." Treize raised his glass, smiling. The two toasted to that scenario, cups chiming. After drinking, their mood sobered; Reeve glanced to the corners of the room, reassuring himself of their privacy from both ears and electronics. Having designed most of the gadgetry Shinra used to monitor its interior, he had a particularly good eye for discreet locations.

"You didn't have anything to do with today's attack, did you?" Reeve asked, somber. "When I agreed to help you it was with the promise that he wouldn't be harmed. I trust this is still the arrangement?"

The SOLDIER General put down his cup of black coffee gently, a single perfect ripple spreading across its surface. "That is absolutely the arrangement, Reeve. Not to worry. The incident today was simply a stroke of fortune."

"Whose fortune?" The director smirked. "Yours?"

"Ours. I hope. I think…" Treize frowned, a line forming on his otherwise serene face. He tapped his finger on the table. "He took me up to the top of the city today… to look at Sector 7. We walked along the top of the wall, right up to the edge."

Reeve looked startled. "You _walked_ on the Sector wall? That's… ridiculously, stupidly dangerous, you realize!"

Treize shook his head. "He's reckless. But brave. He likes it up there, and I think he specifically wanted to show me a place that was special to him. He was sharing a secret."

The director leaned on his hand, eyes wide. "And he didn't push you off or anything?"

"Obviously not."

"Amazing." Reeve snorted. "Incredible. You've started to gain his trust already."

The general looked wistful for a moment, his eyes focused on something far away. "Yes. I may have."

"The president isn't one to give his secrets away lightly. He never forgets a breach of trust, and he never forgives. If I were you, I'd be extraordinarily cautious. If he sees through your act, he will quite literally throw you to the sharks."

Treize smiled, thin and self-depreciating. "I don't have to act, Reeve. I _am_ trustworthy. And I play with my cards face-up. It won't change the outcome of the game."

Reeve stared the SOLDIER General down, his handsome, weathered face intense with scrutiny. "You are a very dangerous man, Treize Khushrenada. I'd hate to be on your bad side."

"I sometimes think it must be safer there." Replied the general, knocking back the last of his coffee with a quick, subtle grimace.


	8. Andromeda

**Andromeda**

"Three…Two…One… _Ignite_!"

Lt Col Andras put fingers in his ears. The explosion spat out great plumes of dust and a small wave of gravel that rained onto the backs of some unlucky miners.

The surrounding forest erupted with panicked birds as the tremor passed, rattling jaws and knees as it undulated beneath the earth. The dig leader grinned ear to ear and pulled his goggles onto the top of his dusty head, leaving rings around his eyes.

"Wooh! What fun, eh colonel?"

Andras shook the dirt off of his helmet and attempted to brush out his hair. "Yeah. Super fun. Much better than some lousy, warm, sunny beach all infested with girls and stuff. I could do this all day."

The dig leader guffawed and clapped the Deepground Soldier on the back. "Aw, don't be like that. I know you're not the excavating sort. It's not for everyone." He hopped down off of his detonation platform, sliding down the small gravel hill to where the rest of the diggers were. He held out a brick-sized device with a black and green screen in one hand, pointing the antenna towards the vicinity of the explosion.

"Take a load of these readings, chaps! Lots of goodies down there. Katrina, why don't you escort our friend the colonel down to Quadrant Five where they found the harps?"

A short-haired woman with square glasses stepped forward, dusting off her overalls. "Sure thing!"

The Bone Village dig site was an odd, smoky labyrinth of relics. It was history's junkyard; filled with the colossal wrecks of pre-mako machines, past civilizations' trophies, and the fearsome bones of extinct monsters, large as houses. The sea had pulled these strange bedfellows together from across the planet, depositing them on the coast of the North Continent where they'd been buried by silt and time.

It was certainly a fascinating area, but the strong arctic winds and the semi-regular mudslides were a deterrent to all but the most dedicated enthusiasts. There was no money in treasure hunting; for all the hype over the occasional precious metals or lost settlements found, it was largely fuel for academics, and not the business of industry.

Shinra hadn't taken an interest in Bone Village until recently, its focus exclusively on news of the Ancients, and any clues that might lead to the elusive Promised Land. But so far, they'd discovered no leads, and the terrain was too barren and temperamental to waste significant resources on. And then, there was the matter of the forest…

Andras shuddered. The surrounding forests were mostly pine, but along one side of the village, the trees made it impossible to sleep soundly. They glowed silver-blue in the darkness, their branches and leaves empty of chlorophyll. They were old trees,_ sleeping_ trees; their sap was said to have been a potent opiate in the time of the Ancients.

They called it the Dreaming Forest- Andras hoped that this referred to the phenomenon that occurred when people went inside, the spores from the trees causing them to wander in a drugged stupor, losing their way and forgetting their purpose for entering in the first place… Surely, the trees _themselves_ weren't actually sleeping, sucking travelers into their primeval fantasies. That would be absurd.

That was what Andras told himself when he closed his eyes at night, listening to the dry whispers around his tent.

"Here's where the harps are at," Katrina pointed. "They're artifacts from the Ancient civilization. We're not exactly sure what they were used for; probably good luck charms or religious icons. You can't tune them. They're pretty useless as instruments; they just do the one tune, the same back to front."

She slid down a short ladder to the bottom of an excavated pit. Picking up a crescent-shaped instrument, she demonstrated. The harp produced a jarring six-noted melody that reminded Andras unpleasantly of an alarm clock. He frowned.

"That's it?"

"That's it!" Katrina grinned. "The mystery relic of the Ancients. We got a box of 'em right here. Very popular with tourists."

Andras sighed and cracked his jaw. He'd known this assignment would be a waste of time. Why General Treize was so interested in antiques suddenly was the real mystery. If anything, these particular artifacts were better left in the ground…

Then a thought dawned on him; something his guide had said was relevant after all.

"Tourists?"

Katrina shrugged. "Sure. We don't get too many up this way, but lately there's been a whole bunch. Well, I say a bunch." She scratched her neck. "More like two. Oh, and one group. So that's three harps we sold between 'em. We made quite a little fortune out of it!"

Andras came to attention. "Describe them for me."

"Well, the first fellow, he came through a couple days ago… tall, dark and din' talk much. Just gave us his money and went." Katrina gave a quick shudder. "Something about him gave me the creeps, I dunno what. And then, well, there was this girl, real pretty, traveling alone—"

Andras bolted forward, startling his guide so much she tripped over a box of pottery shards. "WHEN WAS THIS?" The lieutenant-colonel demanded.

"Ah! Uh, y-yesterday morning!" Katrina stammered, staring up at the looming soldier. "She was here just before you! And the group came through not long after. I th-thought you knew, or well, I didn't think you'd care!"

The Deepground soldier backed off, sucking air between his teeth in frustration. "Damn, damn, damn…I hope we're not too late." Leaping cat-like onto the ridge above, he pulled out his phone.

"General, you're going to want to jump on the quickest transport available and head to the North Continent. Dress warm, and bring whatever materia you can find. We found the Ancient."

* * *

Past the dusty pathways of the Dreaming Forest, the Forgotten City lay in deep cyan light, as if underwater.

Dead shells sat in the lake, huge and silent, waiting for anything to stir the water. Voices so old they had no tongue, no language but memory sifted through the air like pollen, and between everything… Silence as fathomless and wide as the sea.

This was the loneliest place on earth.

Aerith Gainsborough walked clutching her hands to her chest. This clearing, with its bone-white temple the shape of a conch, was the holiest place she'd ever been in.

It was frightening, but only a little bit. Any gods that lingered here were old and sad ones, grateful for company.

She left her Lunar Harp by the pool, where it sunk into the slate-grey sand without a sound, its services no longer needed. It had brought the only remaining Ancient safely through the dreaming trees and into the Capitol to meet her destiny.

No one else could be there in her place. There was enormous burden in being the last of a kind.

"Mother." The word echoed softly through the dark. "Mother, can you hear me? I didn't think I'd make it this far, but here I am. In our city. I'm alone now. Though, I guess that was always true." She listened for a moment, her head tilted to one side. "I'm sorry, I can't tell- there are so many of you… it's hard. You're all so _quiet_."

A soft breeze from the sleeping forest stirred the girl's nut-brown hair, teasing it out in curls around her shoulder. She tucked it back in place, brushing the crystalline bauble of materia that nested in her braid. It glowed brighter here than it ever had before, even in the church where her flowers grew.

The whispers in her head increased.

"Oh!" She looked up, eyes guided to the shell temple. "…Is that all? That doesn't sound so hard. Pretty easy for saving a whole planet, all things considered." She gave a short laugh, rocking on her heels. Then one hand went to her lips, suddenly modest.

"Are you…crying?" She asked the wind, shutting her eyes tight.

The breeze that had been gentle before blew cold and harsh, rattling the leaves in dry branches, chilling the girl's bare legs and startling her.

Lake water rippled, a single small wave lapping at the soles of her old gardening boots. The girl was silent as her dress and hair fell back into stillness.

"…Oh."

Aerith did not move from the lake's edge for a long time. Her fingers twitched, and gradually closed into hard, pointed fists. She shook her head.

"I don't understand. That can't be what you want."

The wind swelled. It poured against her back, pulling her forward like the tide. She fought against it, covering over her ears. No, she tried to shout over the wind; that isn't right! You can't ask me to do that! Drowned out, her knees buckled against the force nature's bellows, falling with a shocked and indelicate splash into the water's shallow edge. "Please, no, I don't want to _die_…!"

It was the first time she'd wept on her journey and the tears caught her by surprise. If her friends had been there, then she might have been stronger. What would her mother think of such a fuss?

But her mother was gone. And even though the lifestream sometimes allowed her presence to surface, every year it was less distinct. Things passed on, regrew, renewed- but they were never the same. Eventually, all that was most important about you disappeared forever.

Death would always be part of the cycle of the planet. It had taken her family and the man she had loved, it had taken her entire people; but it had never loomed so close to her as it did now.

It had found a name and a face and a time; and they were all very near.

The world's last Ancient smothered her face in her hand, cold lake-water seeping into the hem of her pink dress as the unexpected grief rocked her like a child.

"How could you ask me to do this, I don't understand…" Aerith whimpered, ashamed that she could not sound braver. "There's so much I haven't done yet… and I'm … I'm the only one of us left. I know the Planet will take care of me, but, I just got here…"

The wind sighed with apology, with shared misery.

A vision swept over her then- drifting on pollen in the air, in threads of shared knowledge that held the world together. She saw a man; torn apart by the same loneliness, the same isolation she had felt, but unassuaged by the kind voices of ancestors. Instead, only a thin, viral music, full of promises and lies comforted him. It sung to him of reunion, profound and glorious, a future that was his for the taking.

She saw through his eyes—she saw a world filled with fire—a great, monstrous eclipse—followed by dust, and an eons-long darkness.

In her vision, she saw his past: She watched as he stepped out into the night air, his head so full of singing and fury that he could not hear his own thoughts. They swelled with his every breath, painful. The sky was potent with bright country stars, far away planets and suns- He saw villagers out in the plaza through a fog of white noise; they looked like butterflies, useless, fragile things.

His eyes burned with joy. He stood, arms spread, face turned upwards as choir of voices spoke… He could not withstand his happiness; he laughed, turning like a flower into their light as a halo of flame spread at his feet.

To those watching, it appeared at first to grow slowly, an illusion of its size. It spun outwards in sudden burst, a liquid bloom of heat. From above it shone like a great eye opening. The butterfly-people fell gracefully into ash, their weak screams harmonizing in the last of the consumed oxygen. The water tower exploded into steam behind him, and he lowered his arms.

_He must not hate them for being what they are, weak, stupid and subservient animals. They amused him so much. He turned and walked through the inferno, untouched, unhearing. He was following the music of her call—_

Aerith screamed.

Sand covered her hands, water pooling around each finger where she clutched the earth, trembling. Cool black water gazed up at her with her own face: the face of the last Cetra, tear-stained and hurting.

She exhaled, slow and shuddering, tears drying on her face.

"I have to do this… I'm the only one who can stop it." She paused. "Will you help me?" she asked the open air; then, more quietly, "Will you take away the pain, when it happens?"

There was no audible answer, but in the silence, she smiled.

* * *

The water beneath the Conch Temple was a perfect mirror, welling up from inside the earth into emerald basins that had never seen the sun.

Stone caverns lit with natural phosphorescence led farther and farther underground, coiling towards this central point, where smooth rock pillars rose from the water and met at an altar.

It was older than the entire human race, this altar.

At the water's edge, a neat pile of pink cotton lay carefully folded, lovingly arranged and completely out of place in the primordial surroundings.

Aerith placed the last of her clothes on the stack, then shivered and clapped her arms; the cavern wasn't exactly warm, but it radiated a kind of purity that made her feel safe. It hadn't felt right, to stand on the Cetra's altar wearing her human dress.

Taking off each garment stripped her of a layer of memories of her human life; the time she'd bought the little red vest in Wallmarket; the dress that had belonged to a neighbor's daughter; the time Zack had given her the pink ribbon; and the day she'd been given the gardening boots… She found herself with another tear on her cheek.

Elmyra had always wanted her to leave the house with proper footwear.

What would she do, when Aerith was gone? One more absence from the poor woman's life, one more person to look out the window for, not knowing if they'd ever come back. Her fingers lingered on the tough old leather for a moment longer.

Then she stood.

She was naked- Only herself. Only Cetra.

Clutching the glowing crystal materia in her fist, she dove into the perfect water, the ripples breaking slowly over each of the stone pillars that led to the sacred dais.

Light from the waking materia radiated through the dark green water, flashing across the flat stones on the bottom.

Aerith broke the surface near the altar. Reaching up, she pulled herself onto the lowest pedestal, knees and elbows scraping on the rock. She inhaled deeply, pushing her dripping hair out of her face. The task at hand seemed easier as she planted her feet on each successive stepping-stone, long legs bridging the gap between the pillars with ease.

The voices were all around her now, singing, telling her what she must do: _Pray for the world_, _pray for the power to awaken the planet, to rally all life to our cause, to reject the evil that would consume us._

Climbing the steps to the altar, she sensed another presence in the room, a vacuum of energy, trying to conceal itself in the shadows of the cavern...

No matter. He would play his part, regardless.

For now Aerith shone with the collective memories of her ancestors, the willpower of an entire extinct species in her eyes. She knelt, and opened her heart to the planet. Her materia flashed white—as bright as a dying star.

_"Are you praying to your false gods, little one?"_ The single voice filtered through her thoughts like black ink dropped in water.

"_Will you beg them to rise up, wash me out like a pebble in the tide? I will not be moved so easily, little girl. My roots are strong, your planet is weak. Its blood lies clotting in the veins of your cities, sucked out by the leeches you've raised as kings. What difference will your voice make?" _

Aerith shut her eyes tight, blocking out the dissonance of the inky voice, the harsh note of disharmony in the symphony of her mind.

"Shoo." She whispered. "What do you know? You're just a sad, angry man with a grudge. You don't even have a body anymore."

"_And in having no form, I am manifold. Cut off one head and I shall grow another. How will you fight me?" _

"I'm not going to fight you, Sephiroth. The planet is. It's going to throw everything its got at you—you and that old parasite you're carrying."

Laughter echoed through the cavern. "_Then I will devour your planet whole. Your quest is pointless, little girl. You're going to die here. Perhaps I will make your friends watch? Perhaps I shall make the boy do it?" _

Aerith pursed her lips and swallowed. "Cloud's not here. I knew you'd try to control him again so I made sure he got a fake harp... He's still in the Dreaming Forest, where you can't get him. It's just you and me."

"_Ah. A pity. I would have enjoyed seeing him kill you." _

The girl suddenly slapped her hand on the ground and looked up, irritation and rage in her green eyes. She was tired of waiting. Fear had galvanized her anger; if these were to be her last moments, then by Holy, she was going to tell Sephiroth what she thought of him.

"That's because you're a stupid, detached _lunatic_! You had a poor upbringing, so now you want to watch the whole planet die? That's the most pointless thing I ever heard! You're not a god, you're a bully—a grossly pathetic bully! You make me sick! If you're so powerful, why are you threatening a naked, unarmed girl in a pond? You think your life is bad? I didn't want to do any of this! I don't want to be here, saving the planet and getting murdered! I'd rather be _gardening_!"

She picked up a rock and hurled it at the ceiling.

"Go on! Do what you're going to do or get out of here! I am so tired of your _stupid voice_!"

There was silence as the echoes died. A single drop fell from the dais into the pool.

"_When we are together in the lifestream, you will be an interesting distraction. You shall come to know my glory better, in the end. Then you will understand, and your once-mocking voice will sing sweet praises to me for all eternity." _

Aerith shivered. The darkness seemed to gather above her, gaining shape and gravity and one, terrible, black wing.

"Goodbye, everyone... I did my best. Now it's your turn." She whispered, folding her arms around herself, eyes open to the world, ready for the coming blade.

But it did not come.

Death did not land on her from above, but instead, launching out of nowhere came an animal—the enormous beast collided with Sephiroth like a silver arrow ripping a blackbird out of the sky.

It was a lion—a great, white, winged lion with amethyst eyes that clapped broad gold feathers over its prey and roared, shaking stones from the cavern walls.

Sephiroth rolled to his feet in a sinuous motion, long needle sword at the ready.

"_You again."_

The giant cat coiled, ran, and sprang, red jaws wide and trained on the man's head- Sephiroth vanished, winking out of reality in a swirl of smoke, reappearing behind his attacker. The lion whirled, spring-tight, lashing out with enormous paws; its black lips were curled in rage, its mane tossing like a stormy sea.

The two grappled, sword and claw, tooth and leather, black and gold wings thrashing. Sephiroth was slammed into a pillar by the beast's front foot, its second reared and ready to wipe his face off his skull. The man smiled, and as soon as the blow fell, he dissolved into oily darkness.

Aerith barely had time to move—the improbably winged cat turned on her and huffed, its mouth bloody.

"…_Oh._" Aerith gulped. "Oh, this isn't what was supposed to happen…!"

The beast began loping forward and she almost screamed; only to find herself thrown forward onto the creature's back.

She yelped, clinging to its mane as it spread two giant wings and leaped into the air. It was _carrying her_ across the underground lake, she realized, breathless.

There was no time to enjoy the ride however, for as soon as the lion reached the far shore, it dissolved into light and bright feathers.

Realizing that her savior was dematerializing mid-flight, Aerith scrabbled desperately to keep purchase.

"No, no- what are you doing- DON'T YOU DROP ME!" She fell with a shriek, certain for the third time that day that she was going to die.

But someone caught her, heavily, and the air rushed out of her lungs in a squeak. The last of what had been the lion whirled into a glowing red materia, held by a white-gloved hand.

"Ms. Gainsborough, I presume."

Aerith pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up. She then regretted having left her dress on the far bank. "Um. Yes?" She blushed, covering herself quickly with her hands. "And you are...?"

The handsome stranger who had caught her politely kept his gaze on her face as he answered: "My name is Treize Khushrenada. I apologize for the abrupt manner of our acquaintance. Can you stand?"

Aerith squirmed a bit and nodded. "Why, I don't think I was hurt at all... W-was that your summon?"

"The Lamassu? Yes it was. I'm glad we arrived in time to serve you." Treize let her down gently, turning away and unclasping his cape. He offered the long drape of fabric to her, which she accepted gratefully and wrapped around her body.

It was then she noticed the small Shinra lapel pin that was fixed to his uniform.

_Out of the frying pan and into the fire_, she thought.

"So you're with Shinra," she addressed her rescuer with a scowl. "I hope you don't think me ungrateful, Mr. Treize, but generally speaking, people from Shinra don't have my best interests at heart. So I thank you, sincerely, for rescuing me, but I'd appreciate if you left me alone."

The newcomer named Treize gave a modest bow. "I am indeed in Shinra's employ, though perhaps not in the capacity you expect. What I am _not_ here to do, is turn you over. In fact-"

Aerith suddenly straightened, a chill running up her spine. The SOLDIER general tensed at the same moment, looking onto the emerald water, his Mako eyes as wide and as fierce as his summoned creature's had been.

"_He's_ still here."

The darkness had a strange texture to it, shuddering with the potential to suddenly drip down and manifest in nightmares. It all but whispered threats to them.

Aerith felt queasy, sensing that somehow, the holy place that had been so powerful and sacred before was now irrevocably polluted.

"He'll always be here." She said, eyes sorrowful. "He'll stay in the lifestream until we can flush him out. But the planet's very sick… it can't fight back like it should with all of us using Mako energy these days. That's why we have to take such drastic measures."

A gloved hand grasped hers gently. "As it happens, my lady, that is precisely why I need your help." Aerith met the general's gaze.

"My help?"

"I have a proposition to make to you. But it can wait until we are safely in the air once more." He began walking towards the cavern's exit. "I hope you can forgive me for rushing our departure, but I do have an appointment to keep in Midgar."


	9. Fourth State of Matter

"Caesar needs a Brutus, like you and I."

-_-Anita Lane_

**Fourth State of Matter**

Just before the evening sun set completely over Shinra's private airstrip, a quaint, dual-winged plane came in for a landing, skidding across the tarmac and coming to rest inside the hangar.

A man emerged form its cabin, looking about discreetly for any signs of alarm. The back seat in the aircraft was empty, though there remained a small, damp depression on a cushion where a water-soaked passenger might have sat, and a lingering smell of flowers filled the cabin.

The pilot busied himself with the aircraft, locking the wheels and covering its rust-colored wings and blue propeller with a tarp. He finished, turning to head inside—but stopped in place, his heel raised.

"I didn't realize you were authorized to take that vehicle, General Khushrenada." Said the expensively suited man who had materialized in the once-empty hangar.

"Tseng" Treize swallowed, trying to keep his expression neutral, his voice even. "To what do I owe the honor?"

The director of the Turks stared him down, like a patient crow waiting for something to die. "I understand you have a meeting with the president today. Does he know that you took the TinyBronco to the North Continent?"

"The Turks certainly have long ears." Treize muttered with a self-depreciating chuckle. "I should have been more careful."

Tseng shifted stances, a subtle movement that raised the hostility between them by several degrees. "It sometimes pays to eavesdrop on other eavesdroppers." He said mildly. "Shall I assume you are on your way to inform the President that you've located the escaped Cetra girl? Or would you like me to report the incident myself?"

"I would prefer, Tseng, that you and I not become enemies." The general's hand drifted towards his belt, where several lethal devices were kept. He did not draw. "Please allow me to tell the president of the matter on my own time. I have my reasons."

"I'm sure you do." Said Tseng. "I've heard something about those reasons from a colleague of mine on the board of directors..."

The general's eyes narrowed. It was a long moment before the dark suited man finished; "Reeve Tuesti. I believe you two have met." Tseng's placid face showed signs of amusement.

Treize allowed himself to exhale finally. "Yes. We're acquainted." He met the other man's dark eyes without blinking. "Did Reeve tell you about our common interests?"

"He did. In fact, he made me something a proposal on the matter."

"I see…" Said the general. "And have you had a chance to come to a decision regarding this proposal?" 

The director of the Turks stood silent for a long moment, a dark pillar against the last of the incoming light. "Not yet. It's safe to say that if my answer is no, you'll be the last to hear about it, sir. For the time being, consider yourself on borrowed time, general."

Treize frowned at the veiled threat, but accepted it. "I see. In that case, thank you for the grace period. I expect you'll have the evidence you need for your verdict within the month."

"Oh, and general—" Tseng turned, sending a soft wave down his long black hair. "If I may speak on behalf of my organization; you are unlikely to find much sympathy from my coworkers." His face was a mask of professionalism. "Whatever your intentions, I don't think you fully understand what we—the Turks—owe Rufus personally. Under the previous administration, there was an incident involving a double agent… Shinra Sr. slated the Turks for immediate disbandment and execution."

He paused, looking out of the hangar to the horizon. "Rufus salvaged the organization himself. He argued our case before the committee, and then took personal responsibility for our conduct. That was part of the reason that he lost his position as vice president."

The general drew back a fraction of an inch. "I hadn't realized."

"Most people think of the Turks as dogs for hire and underestimate our loyalty." Tseng folded his hands behind his back. "Be glad you didn't make the mistake of trying to offer me money."

"Of course not." Treize snapped, a sudden passion entering his voice. "I'm counting on you to make a decision _based_ on your sense of duty—not only to your employer, but the future. You're an intelligent man, Tseng; I trust you can see where all this is going."

"The future is not my concern." Tseng waved his hand. "I've heard your case, and I will consider it. Until then, it's your move, general." He tipped his head and disappeared into the hangar shadows.

The sun flashed low, sending the blinding reflections of a dozen skyscraper windows under the hangar roof before dipping below the Midgar skyline, painting the city and the uniformed man in shades of purple and gold.

Treize inhaled deeply. He shouldn't have expected the Turks to come to him easily. Their organization was a volatile blend of mercenary flexibility, fraternal loyalty, and corporate construction. He'd either have to prove to them that his plan was in their best interests overall, or win them over individually. Or take them down. He hoped it would not come to that. Even with SOLDIER at his disposal, the Turks were not to be taken lightly.

This was shaping up to be more complicated affair than he'd anticipated. He was going to have to tread very carefully from now on. But at least the Cetra girl was safe… in that respect, things had gone well today. How things would have played out if he'd had to fight Sephiroth again, he did not care to think about. It had taken all his courage to draw attention to himself with that summon… Even with a young woman in danger, he'd been too frozen to do anything else.

Treize huffed. _What a coward I'm becoming, if the prospect of fighting my own battles so petrifies me. _He thought. _Someday, when I have less to lose, I will fight you again sir. Perhaps on that day, things will be different._

Something in his pocket buzzed, startling him. He drew out his phone carefully and tried to remember which button activated the screen. After hitting 'volume', 'hold', and a nub that may have been entirely decorative, he succeeded. "Obtuse Shinra technology…" he scowled.

One line of text waited for him, glowing in green: _"Report to office immediately. Drinks are getting warm." _

Treize's face lightened. "…No rest for the wicked."

Two glasses were set equidistant from each other on the president's wide desk.

"You made it after all. Good." Rufus said while ducking behind the bureau. When he emerged he held a tall, unopened bottle of clear liquid, which he proceeded to pour into the waiting cups.

"Yes. Sorry for the delay. It was kind of you to wait for me." Treize made a short bow and pulled up a chair. "Though, vodka's really not my drink of choice…"

"Too fucking bad. It's what I had under the desk, and I just got back from a long day of picking up my father's messes." Rufus said flatly, downing his first shot in one gulp. "How was your trip?"

"Entirely unremarkable." The general raised his glass without so much as a twitch. "There were reports that Avalanche had been active in the North Continent but we were unable to substantiate the claims. None of the terrorists were apprehended and nothing was found of their passing besides rumors." He took a lazy sip of his drink. For the most part, everything he'd said was true.

Rufus narrowed his eyes. "Really. You went through all that trouble of sidestepping my head Turk and you still didn't find anything. What a shame."

Treize blinked. "Tseng informed me that the Cetra girl has been known to travel with Avalanche, but…"

"-But Avalanche wasn't there. Hm. Well, that tracks with what I heard." Rufus knitted his hands under his chin. "See, a little bird told me you like to play with your cards face-up. I wanted to see if this was true."

The general put down his empty glass slowly and licked his lips, an action which for some reason fascinated Rufus's attention in a way he was not comfortable with.

"I learned something about you today as well… You put your career on the line to save the Turks from extermination."

"Did I?"

"You did." Treize folded his arms. "You're not as callous and pragmatic as you pretend to be, Rufus Shinra."

Rufus sighed, filled his glass and swallowed it just as quickly. "Yeah, well, don't go spreading it around." He picked up the bottle of vodka and stood, wavering a bit on his feet. "Come on… this is where I invite you upstairs like a real host."

Treize laughed, the sound at least as warm as the glow of alcohol making Rufus's head light. There'd been an uneasy seed planted in his chest ever since that night in the elevator. Rufus rubbed his forehead, slicking his bangs back with one hand. Every time he pictured the general in his mind now something quivered and grew and put out another creeping tendril.

His own glass elevator had been repaired in the time between their meetings. From the lift the president could watch the entire city dropping beneath him; a view shared only with birds... Rufus let the bottle hang in one hand, the oil-thick liquid sloshing as the elevator began its ascent.

"Why is it that every time we meet, we end up having philosophical discussions at least 12 stories above ground?" Rufus mused, more to himself than his companion.

"You're a creature of high elevations, Rufus. You can't help it." Treize gave him an amused look. "A curious animal indeed… You're more at home in the zoo than in the jungle. If I took you away from all this artifice and metal, you'd wither."

"Well… As long as I'm in charge of the zoo…" The blonde man unscrewed the lid to his drink and took a swig, unbothered by the lack of nicety. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and went back to staring out the window. "See. This is why I like to drink alone. I talk too much when I'm drunk, and you're a dangerous listener."

The president's suite was chilly and the air tasted like steel. Rufus kept it that way intentionally, finding that it helped him think. When it was a choice between relaxing and staying sharp, he always went with the latter.

The main flat was almost entirely monochrome; the couch was made of pristine white leather; the furnishings were chrome, glass, or black acrylic, and the Mako lighting was carefully coordinated and harsh.

One wall was devoted entirely to an exotic fish tank; inside, three large silver and black eels circulated, occasionally flexing their jaws and flashing their pale blue mouths. The only color came from blue-tinted accent lights that ran along the mini-bar that transected the room.

By contrast, the president's bedroom door was open, and the sliver of wall that could be seen was painted solid red.

"Home sweet home." Rufus muttered, spreading his hands.

"Rufus." Treize stood perfectly still in the doorway. "Don't move."

"What?" The president asked, tense.

Something in the room growled, wild and threatening. The general reached slowly to his belt where he kept a small, ornate handgun. "There's something in your room… another escapee from the science labs, I think. Don't turn around or raise your voice. I'm going to try and distract it."

Rufus's eyes widened. "It isn't big, black, and furry is it? Quick, tell me: does it have a tentacle on its head?"

Treize nodded soberly, moving slowly to position himself between the president and the dangerous animal. A manic grin broke on Rufus's face and he whirled around.

"COME AT ME, FURBALL."

Darknation surged over the edge of the couch in a muscular ripple, head ramming into Rufus's knees and sending him sprawling. He laughed, tumbling backwards and grappling with his pet. "Good girl! Hah! You should see your face, general..."

Treize relaxed his defensive posture, looking sheepish. "You could have told me you have a pet guardhound."

"She's shy around strangers." Rufus stood, brushing himself off, adding with an expression of pride, "Also, she bites." He led the panther-sized animal to a back room, offered it a bloody steak from the fridge, and closed the door gently.

"I don't have any wine." Rufus declared, unapologetic. "Hard liquor or nothing."

Treize sat cautiously on the leather couch, feeling uncomfortably flamboyant in the minimalist surroundings. "That's fine. I'll abstain for tonight if you don't mind."

"Really? Because I'm going to get plastered." Rufus sat across from the general, bottle in hand. "You're free to stay sober and watch me become sloppy and miserable, but I don't recommend it."

In the end, two small black shot glasses were filled and Treize grudgingly toasted his host. Something about the general's ability to radiate confidence in the face of hostility put Rufus on edge. It made him feel vulnerable, vicious.

"Let's talk about you for a second." Rufus said, leaning forward. "Tell me about why you're here. I mean, really here. You obviously hate my policies because you're a bleeding-heart idealist (no offense), but you work for me anyway. Why? I mean, you say my lack of concern for human dignity is repulsive, but you also want to be my friend? That's absurd." He crossed his legs and leaned back.

"Rufus…" Treize sighed, putting down his drink and looking to his companion earnestly. "You have it in your power to change everything about this company, and positively affect the world. I admire that you are working to turn the tide of corruption that was started by your predecessor, but you could do so much _more_… But instead you forge ahead, heedless of consequence, not realizing you're piloting a sinking ship."

The general's voice was soft but infinitely compelling; his words came naturally and unrehearsed. _No wonder people trust him,_ Rufus thought with twinge of envy.

"This company exists on a foundation of deceit, exploitation, and subterfuge," Treoze continued. "Shinra survives only because it uses the most under-handed means to grab and hold power. You could turn it around tomorrow, if you so chose. You haven't yet, but your could."

"Look." Rufus pointed to his face. "_This_ is Shinra. Right here. You can't have one without the other. Shinra's policies are _my_ policies. They're not friendly. They're _efficient_. I know it doesn't make me popular. It doesn't make me _happy_. But it doesn't matter. I _am_ the company." Rufus stood abruptly, looming pale and dangerous above his guest. "And you can either get on board with that, or get out, because I don't appreciate it when you try to flatter me, but slander my business in the same breath. Do you know what that tells me about you, Treize? That tells me that you just want a piece of Rufus Shinra, and you think you can get it by appealing to my ego. That doesn't make me like you very much."

Treize met this verbal onslaught calmly, hands crossed on his knee behind the ridge of his glossy boot. "Is it such a sin that I have faith in your ability to change?"

"I can't just… stop wanting what I've wanted my whole career!" Rufus threw his hand in the air with frustrated energy. "It'd mean giving in to everything that's tried to keep me down my whole life. And believe me, I've had to fight that long to keep above water. I've had to give up more than you know to get here, so don't sit there, and tell me, what I should fucking do with my life, because you don't even know. Alright?" He pushed his blonde hair back on his skull and sat back down heavily. Another shot of vodka tipped back in his mouth before he regained composure. "Sorry. I'm doing my best here. Socializing isn't my strong suit."

Treize just smiled, cat-like. "I understand."

"Sure you do."

"No, I do. You're trying to open up to me, but you're worried that trusting me will let me take advantage of you."

Rufus laughed, short and bitter. "Hah! Well thank you for that analysis, Dr. Khushrenada."

"You're not wrong to worry..." The general added cryptically, his smile taking a turn for the predatory.

The president looked at his guest strangely. Honesty was in the air, a product of alcohol and privacy. He decided to test it, see how far the thermal would take him.

"You said you wanted to get to know me better… So prove it." He filled the general's glass. "I ask one question, you ask one. We both drink. First one to chicken out has to finish the bottle. No lies, no spin. Just straight answers from both of us. Deal?"

Treize raised an eyebrow. "Interesting terms. Alright…I accept."

"Let the games begin." Rufus declared. "First question: what's your connection with Reeve Tuesti?"

The general met his gaze evenly. "Reeve was the one who told me about the housing project and the building codes you were planning on circumventing in order to lower costs. He suggested that I make a show of it at our first board meeting, to make Heidegger, Scarlet, and Palmer uncomfortable."

Rufus's head jerked back. He'd suspected that that was the case ever since the conference, but hearing it said so candidly was a surprise. "Huh. You weren't kidding… That was a test, by the way. I knew you couldn't have known about the codes unless you had help, and Reeve was the obvious choice; we don't always see eye-to-eye." He coughed. "Down the hatch."

The two shots vanished and were replaced again, glass clinking against glass.

"My turn." Treize swallowed, still feeling the beverage's sting in his throat. "Why didn't you tell me you were claustrophobic? Why didn't you take the stairs?"

"That's two questions, and I'm not fucking claustrophobic." Rufus spat. "I just have a personal… dislike of dark, closed spaces. My father… goddamnit." He added an extra shot to his tally. "My father put me in a closet once. When I was a kid. He left me there all day, and then pretended like it was my fault. It's stupid, and embarrassing, and pathetic, and I thought I'd gotten over it, but _apparently_…" He shook his head, a traitorous blush spreading across his fair complexion.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Treize looked infuriatingly genuine. "What a cruel thing to do."

"Yeah. Well. Like you said, I could have taken the stairs. Next question:" Rufus cleared his throat. "What the hell is wrong with your eyebrows?"

Chuckling, Treize ran a finger along an offending prong. "They run in the family. My cousin Dorothy is notorious for them. It's from the Catalonia side— they skipped my mother and went straight to me."

"Fair enough." They drank again, grimacing. They apartment seemed to be heating up.

"How long have you worked with the Turks?"

"Huh." Rufus tilted his head back, nostalgic. "Since I was made Vice President. Best time of my life… the old man never understood what I liked about it, running around in the slums, getting my pretty hands dirty." He snorted. "I'd be doing that again now, if I could. I like things direct and simple.

"Running a mega-conglomerate is about as far away from that ideal as you can get." Treize mused.

"You can't have everything, especially when you have everything." Rufus slid his head back upright, rubbing his forehead. "Woof. I hope you lose. I don't know if I can manage the rest of this bottle."

"They're your terms." The Mako-eyed soldier winked. "You can always change them. Who was your last lover?"

Rufus snapped alert, blinking at his guest incredulously. "You sure like to aim for the personal stuff! Alright...ah. If you must know, I've lost track. I don't remember who last sucked me off. Happy?"

"That's not really what I asked…" Treize leaned in, expression mischievous. "Do you have a partner, Rufus?"

"Obviously not." The president glared. "Women are better at power-tapping than the slum black-marketers. My old man wasted half his life cycling through failed marriages; I'm not about follow in his footsteps."

Treize frowned. "I see you have a very poor estimation of the opposite sex. How disappointing. Some of the strongest and most admirable people in my life are women."

"Well, how nice for you. In my line of work, women are good for exactly one thing, and that's something I can pay for. Now it's payback: Who was _your_ last lover, general?"

The golden-haired aristocrat did not answer immediately. He swirled the liquid in his glass thoughtfully and took a sip, staring into empty space.

"Oh come on, you can dish it out but you can't take it?" Rufus sneered. "Who was your last? Tell me."

"…Sephiroth."

Rufus tried not to bite off his own tongue. He coughed, sputtered, put a hand on his chin and stared. "You're shitting me."

"That is an exceedingly distasteful phrase. And no. I'm not." Treize closed his eyes for a moment, wavering. "We met after I graduated from first phase. My hair was still growing back…"

Rufus did a private mental victory dance. He resolved to search the archives for pictures as soon as possible.

"I was leaving the training grounds for the first time since I'd been promoted to 3rd Class. We were on the trans-continental train; by coincidence I found myself sitting across from him, and we were able to talk. He was very kind… you can imagine how nervous I was, a freshly graduated cadet meeting the hero of SOLDIER. It turned out we'd been quartered together on the trip. It rather progressed from there… and I believe… I've had quite enough to drink." Treize sighed, stretching his long legs out from the couch.

Rufus's mouth went unexpectedly dry. The coil that had been living in his stomach since he first shook hand with the refined interloper constricted sharply.

"But… didn't you end up fighting him?" The Shinra heir's eyes went wide. "What happened?"

"…That's a story for another day, Rufus. It's not something I care to relive at this particular moment." For a flickering moment, the general looked considerably older than his thirty-odd years. "I still haven't answered your first question though…"

"What was that?" Rufus asked benignly, pouring himself one last shot for luck.

"Why I am here. My purpose for staying with Shinra, despite my objection to its methods. Why I've been so concerned with getting close to you."

Rufus began to feel uncomfortable, his blush returning unbidden to his face. Even with half a bottle of vodka in him, he didn't think he was nearly drunk enough to hear whatever was about to be imparted to him.

Treize turned his feline eyes on the president with brutal, lucid honesty, and not a hint of intoxication.

"I'm here to betray you, Rufus Shinra. I'm going to take over your company."

_The price of power is loneliness, baby. Everyone wants a piece of you. Don't trust them, Rufus. Don't trust anyone. Don't let them see you weak; don't let them see blood in the water. Don't cry, don't you cry. _

It was his mother's favorite advice to give, often recited while leaving.

_They're gonna walk their dirty boots all over you, boy. Don't you let them._

She'd shake him firmly by the shoulders; long nails dug in, and kiss his forehead.

_I love you sweetie. _And walk out, her blonde hair fluffed, her makeup perfect.

Rufus took after his mother. He was delicate, pallid, and fine-boned with hair like corn silk; resembling her in all the ways that embarrassed and infuriated him. His hands were white and graceful, so he'd covered them in cut-off leather gloves. His hair was soft and shimmering, so he'd vigorously flattened it against his skull. He was small and unimposing, so he wore thick rough-soled work shoes and large untailored jackets. The tough boys in the slums had laughed at him; he'd learned to fire a shotgun with surgical accuracy. He hated the thought of germs and filth, and he'd forced himself to work in the slums. He'd been terrified of tight spaces, and refused to take the stairs.

It was in his nature to fight himself, and he was stubborn. He could do this all day, every day. Being miserable just proved he was winning.

There were few things he was genuinely proud of and his tenacity was one of them. He'd stuck it out. He had his company, and he would make it the biggest, most bulletproof organization on the planet.

It was a _power_ company; it churned out control and energy and authority. It was the only thing in Rufus's life that mattered, and he would let someone take it from him when they pried it from his dead, bleeding fists.

"You're funny." He rasped in a low whisper, lip curling. "But that's not something you get to joke about with me."

The general stood, tall and graceful; there as apparently something in his artificially enhanced metabolism had already lessened the effects of alcohol. Not wanting to be caught at a disadvantage, Rufus fumbled for a small bottle he kept for such occasions. _Thank every god for Hojo's miracle detox-drug…_ he thought, spraying its contents into his mouth. Funny—being sober had never been so important, and yet he'd never wanted to be drunk more than he wanted it now. His eyes watered, the fuzziness beginning to clear from his head.

"It wasn't a joke." Treize continued smoothly, closing the distance between them.

Rufus rose clumsily, tripping as he tried to back away in vain; but his reflexes were still muddy. The general caught him up, hands closing on his wrists, close enough to suffocate.

"Leave." Rufus gritted his teeth, panting. "Get the fuck out of my house, and get the fuck out of my company."

"It is too late for that." Treize stared into his eyes and it was like being hypnotized by a viper. "I won't lie to you. My purpose here is to remove Shinra Inc from your control; I'm going to break its monopoly, put a stop to its abuse of resources, and end your uncontested authority in Midgar and the rest of the planet before you destroy it with your thoughtless greed. I'm going to do this with or without your sanction… and I –will –_not_ –harm –you."

He let go of the president's wrists.

"Why the hell would you even tell me that?" Rufus yanked his arms back.

"Because I haven't yet done it yet. And until I do, I'm still yours." Treize touched his chest in his customary gesture of deference. "And because it's no different from chess. We both know each other's motives. The pieces are on the board for both of us to see. The trick lies in simply playing the game." He tilted his head, almost coy.

Rufus let out a barking laugh. "Are you serious? What makes you think I'm going to play out your little fantasy when I could just have you shot between the eyes?"

"Because you think you can win. Why else?" Treize continued, unmoved by the threat of assassination. "And because you need me. Your enemies on the board hamper you, and I'm going to get rid of them."

Rufus squinted at him, questioning.

"The wheels are already in motion, sir." The general gave an ironic half-bow. "I trust you, Rufus. You have not a drop of subtlety in your veins- only ruthless conviction. It is a combination of traits that I both require from a superior, and find personally irresistible." He moved closer, closing distance on the president again, and extending his hands.

"I want to be your opponent. Just as I want to be close to you."

An electric current seemed to run between them, sparking and gaining energy, ionizing, pulsing, and transcending mundane states of matter, mobile and molten—a feeling like plasma, like mako itself.

"You want, you want, you _want_…" Under the dark turtleneck, Rufus's adam's apple dipped. "Seems like that's all you talk about, when in reality you're taking things out from under me." His voice was high and artificially firm. "Do you know what I want? I want to see you go down in flames, general. I want you to climb all the way to the fucking top, and fall right back down to the bottom, and when you're there—I want you to see my fucking face above you, laughing. And I want…" Rufus's voice suddenly broke, vulnerability eclipsing his face for half a second. "…I want you."

Treize blinked slowly and said nothing.

"No. That's not… I mean..." Rufus's red-rimmed eyes fluttered.

There were too many conflicting impulses firing at once. Feelings welled up in him, as similar and as incompatible as water and gasoline. His diaphragm convulsed, hard.

"…I have to go." The words came out choked as Rufus rushed blindly into the bathroom past his guest. There, he vomited clear liquid until he could bring up nothing else, and then slid to the floor, trying to breathe.

Over the sink he scrubbed his face till it was sore. It took him a long while till he felt clean again.

When he woke up, Rufus found himself lying on his bed, fully clothed and partially covered. He did not remember how he had gotten there—the last thing in his memory was a lot of unpleasant ceramic.

Tenderly he slid off the bed; everything seemed to work still, though his sense of balance was taking a while to come back online. He stumbled softly to his wardrobe, suddenly disgusted by the clothes he was still wearing. He stripped down to his slacks and dark sleeveless turtleneck, feeling lighter.

Feeling his way to the doorframe, he crossed into the living room in search of something hot to drink.

He was not entirely surprised to see the general asleep on his couch, hand tucked under his golden head for a pillow, but his heart did a quick summersault all the same.

Whatever volatile chemicals had sent his emotions into a firestorm earlier that night had dissipated, leaving him numb, chilly, and rational. There would be ample time for self-flagellation later; for now, all he wanted was a strong cup of black coffee.

Espresso thick as oil and velvety as chocolate streamed into a glass mug, steam rising into the chilly air, tinted blue-green under the accent lights.  
_I could kill him._ Rufus thought, swirling the dark drink slowly. _I wouldn't even need to call someone. He's right there. Shotgun's easy enough to load. _

Rufus paced quietly to the right arm of the leather sofa, looking down on his guest's face. _So trusting… saying what he said and then falling asleep right where I can get him._

He kicked the base of the couch with the vigor of a ball player. "Hey! Wake up."

He was in the perfect spot to watch the general's unnatural, dilated pupils narrow sharply from black moons to pinpricks in a sea of blue. Treize's eyelids fluttered unevenly; he brushed an auburn shock of mane off his forehead. "…Ah?" He tilted his head back to look at his employer, mouth sleepily ajar. "Ah."

"I see you decided to sleep over."

Treize sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the sofa and resting his elbows on his knees tiredly. "Forgive me. I thought it would be… prudent to stay and see if I still had a job..."

Rufus stared at him, replying laconically; "Of course you still have a job. You're a vicious son of a bitch with designs on my company…" His nose wrinkled. "What else is new. At least you're upfront about it."

Treize met the Shinra heir's frigid gaze with an expression somewhere between curiosity and triumph. "I see. And you're not worried? If I win, Shinra will never be the same."

Rufus raised a finger. "…The _'if' _is precisely why I am not worried." The president took a sip of his bitter midnight fuel. It burned him all the way down.

Silence reigned while the clock ticked past the dragging seconds.

"SO!" Rufus barked suddenly, pleased to see it made the general jump. "Talk to me. Tell me about Sephiroth." He dropped himself insolently next to Treize on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your sex life!" Rufus crossed his arms. "Tell me the details! I'll be damned if I'm the only one who humiliates himself tonight. And anyway, you lost the game earlier."

A slight blush touched the aristocratic cheek— a small but heady victory for Shinra. Rufus forged ahead gleefully. "Would you say he was _well_ hung, or _extremely_ well hung? Early-finisher, or endurance runner? Was he on top or bottom?"

Treize actually looked away, lips pursed. Rufus bit his cheek to stop from grinning madly.

"…You're trying to catch me out as a stereotypical upper-class prude." He intoned quietly. "Before I prove you wrong, I'd just like to remind you that Sephiroth did try to _kill_ me, right after he murdered your father, and half of my squadron. That puts rather a damper on any fond memories I have of our relationship…"

Rufus felt a tiny flutter of guilt, which luckily, was easily drowned.

"But I will try..." Treize was visibly composing himself.

There was a long pause before he continued: "Like a _beast_, is the answer to your first question; early, but frequent, to the second; and mostly standing, but both if I was lucky." He turned his steady gaze on Rufus once more. "…Satisfied?"

"Not even close." Rufus wet his lips. "Come on—all's fair in love and war. I want you humiliated, remember?"

Treize sighed and leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. Rufus found himself watching the man's throat as he swallowed, feeling his pulse rise.

"If you really want to know… We used to meet in the showers after sparring; we played a game of making it as quick and silent as possible, and I always did a piss-poor job of keeping quiet. It's a wonder we were never caught together. When he took me the first time as a cadet, he was quite shy. The longer I knew him, the more aggressive he became. I don't recall becoming more passive to match—we'd just grind at each other until one of us gave in or felt like submitting."

"More details, general." Rufus's lip curled. "Get to the shameful stuff. I'm not convinced you're sufficiently humbled yet." It was the control, he realized. Despite everything that had happened that day, he knew he could still make this man, genetically modified for strength and speed though he was, do anything he wanted. That was what was making him so hot, not all the talk of closeness or trust.

"He used to have me play orderly. He'd get off on having me on my knees, whether it was to spit-polish his boots or suck his cock."

Part of Rufus's brain refused to process Treize's refined mouth saying those words. When they did finally register, he had to uncross his legs.

"He liked it when we kept our uniforms on. Sometimes…" the confessor licked his lips, lids closing from embarrassment, or pleasure, "I wasn't allowed to touch him— he'd make me kiss his boots, or choke on his sword hilt, or lick his gloves."

Rufus made a show of stroking his leg lazily with one hand. Treize followed the motion out of the corner of his eye; his voice took on a rough quality as he went on.

"He'd tell me that I couldn't have his cock until I begged for him to give it to me. I'd make a point of resisting, but that was a game I never won. He wouldn't always give me what I wanted—sometimes he'd make me wait. But I would always beg."

Rufus leaned across the space between them and took hold of the man's long-fingered hand. He pulled it across to his lap, showing it where to cup, encouraging it to fondle the seam of his pants. He heard Treize's breath catch.

It was so easy—much easier than talking.

"Would you beg _me_?" He asked. "I wouldn't hold out on you if you did."

"Rufus—" Treize croaked, sitting up, "You have no idea… how much—"

"Shut up. Fuck me."

For a second the SOLDIER General looked almost pained. Then his body was across Rufus's, his hands on the blonde man's face and in his hair as they kissed so violently it felt like an explosion.

"I'm not queer." Rufus said when he remembered to breathe again. "I don't want to, you know…"

"Understood." Treize nodded, fighting with the clasp of his collar. The heavy braided jacket eventually slid off, followed by knee-high boots, socks and garters, a leather belt, and ironed slacks. Hands moved silkily down rows of buttons, freeing their garments and tossing them aside.

He seemed to gain a dignity and stature with each article of clothing removed, while Rufus had always felt himself somehow diminish when he undressed.

The bared creature in front of him had narrow, tiger-hips; broad shoulders; a gloriously tapered, leanly muscled being of tawny gold. It had nothing to be shy about. Treize appeared wholly and essentially comfortable in his own skin.

Rufus, by contrast, felt a vague disgust for his pink and downy-haired nakedness. He'd spent a lot of time doing nothing but drinking, sulking, and getting blowjobs at the Gold Saucer before his return from exile. Softness permeated his body, smoothing all the sharp angles and planes.

This did not seem to diminish his partner's arousal.

"Look at you…" Treize murmured, admiring Rufus's lightly freckled, porcelain complexion with hands and tongue. "You are so beautiful."

"You shut your goddamn mouth." Rufus huffed, blushing.

Treize did not comply, but instead pressed a kiss into the base of Rufus's erection, tonguing the length of it before slipping it softly, wetly between his lips.

The back of Rufus's head hit the armrest, an unrestrained animal sound escaping him. He was beginning to think this had not been a good idea. Sex had seemed simpler than discussion an hour ago, but now he could see how it would make the unfurling political situation between them much, much more complicated. 

Because he was going to want to do this again. He was going to want to do this again, _a lot._

A few hours before dawn crept up on the city, the SOLDIER general and the president of the world's largest industrial empire lay entangled and sweat-slick on the no-longer-pristine white leather couch.

"I don't usually say this, but stay. Please stay." Rufus panted, feeling himself drifting into a comatose sleep.

Treize laid a kiss on the crown of his tousled head. "Nothing would please me more."


	10. Interlude, Antibodies

"Below the thunders of the upper deep;

Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep

The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee

About his shadowy sides: above him swell

Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;

And far away into the sickly light,

From many a wondrous grot and secret cell

Unnumber'd and enormous polypi

Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.

There hath he lain for ages and will lie

Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,

Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;

Then once by man and angels to be seen,

In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die."

_-"The Kraken", Lord Alfred Tennyson_

**Interlude/Antibodies**

That night, Treize dreamt of the past.

The soldier remembered a time when he and Sephiroth were still friends and occasional lovers; a time when the then SOLDIER General had still trusted him enough to confide his thoughts.

He recalls with perfect clarity that pale exotic face, features so angelically constructed, knotted with anxiety. After his return from Nibelheim, Sephiroth had been quiet, keeping his own counsel, seeking no advice or company from his friends.

"I hear things in my dreams these days that make me weep…" Sephiroth had whispered, making his confession while they were alone in the Shinra library. "I am…terrified by my own expectations, by what they imply. There is music in my head, Treize—a terrible, wonderful music, like fire. I don't want it to stop. It tells me that I am loved and needed, that I am alone because I am superior, that I am and have always been a god amongst men, that my day of ascension is near… am I going crazy? Why do I feel like this?" He was frightened, his fingers digging into his arms- acutely pained, acutely human.

"I don't know," Treize had answered weakly, not trusting himself to give advice to a legend. "I wouldn't put much faith in words that so exactly spoke to my fears or my desires… Is it not enough that you are loved, here and now, for what you are? _I_ love you…" He'd reached to touch his mentor's face, not realizing it would be the last time they'd meet together as men.

His hand had been struck away with determined force; Sephiroth stood, isolated within his own private revelations. "What you love is my humanity, and that is the smallest part of what I am."

_-It is the smallest part of what you are as well, My lion in sheep's clothing.—_

Aware that he was still dreaming, Treize flinched, clutching his head. "No… Stop it. This isn't real. The Sephiroth I knew is dead." His body drained of warmth; he felt suddenly like a child alone, facing a thousand monstrous shadows.

-_Are you enjoying playing with your food? Eating it alive? Have those human dullards not realized there is a predator in their midst?—_

"You no longer have the right to speak of humanity."

-_Then neither do you, Treize. You do know what you are, don't you? How long will you be able to lie to them, to yourself?- _

"We have nothing to say to each other. Leave me alone."

-_It was very discourteous of you to send your animal out to fight without paying your respects to Me in person. Were you not happy to see me, My lion? Did you not wish to dance with Me again?—_

The scar across Treize's torso burned as vividly as the day it had been made. He cried out, doubling, caught off guard. He felt black blood between his fingers and heard laughter echo through the barren landscape of his nightmare.

-_The Reunion approaches. You will come to Me then. You are as much a part of Me as you are of Her… We will be waiting for you, when you accept your real nature and shrug off this pathetic disguise.—_

With a jolt, he woke up; the last jerking defensive motion of his arm against his chest startling him out of the haunted sleep. Breath shuddered out of him, his heart pounding.

Gradually, he lowered his head back onto the friendly arm that had supported it, the soft leather of the couch creaking under him. The pale blonde man half-under, half-beside him was still asleep, having exhausted himself earlier that night. Rufus's expression was almost comically grim, his hair a silky mop over his brow.

There were no shadows here; nothing standing out in the dark that his mako-enhanced eyes could detect. There was no reason to suspect his dream had signified anything other than the recycling of unpleasant memories.

No reason to suspect it meant anything at all.

* * *

"This truly is the Promised Land… It's everything I'd imagined it would be… isn't it splendid?"

After months of tracking, of close-encounters and lost trails, Shinra Inc had caught up with what remained of the eco-terrorist group, Avalanche. It had seemed hopeless after the last Ancient, the Cetra girl Aerith had disappeared… but here they were against all odds— standing inside an icy quartz cave in the Northern Crater, atop what was perhaps the largest mako deposit ever discovered.

Crystals as tall as houses jutted from the ground, forming unearthly structures that dwarfed the humans walking amongst them. Everything had grown giant here, untouched by the ravages of time or human development.

"There is no such thing. It's an old wives tale. It can't exist…It's utterly ridiculous. The Promised Land is not a physical location, it is a philosophical tenant, an idea." Professor Hojo muttered, his bespectacled eyes turned towards the ground, as if unable to look directly at the natural splendors in front of him.

"The outside is rich with mako energy, the inside is a treasure trove of materia… what else would you call it?" Rufus interjected coldly. "It's this kind of dullness that makes you a second-rate scientist, Professor."

"It's… it's _all_ materia!" Chief Engineer Scarlet's eyes glittering with greed, running her hands over each crystalline surface. "The cave is practically _made_ of it! This whole wall is-"

Her hand froze. Suddenly she jerked it back as if she'd burned herself with a short, high screech. There was an eye inside the crystal wall; an eye with a pupil the size of a man. It had winked as Scarlet's hand passed over it.

"Hojo…" Rufus said slowly, swallowing his panic. "What… is that?"

"_Weapon_…" The professor's glasses slid down his nose. "Then it really does exist…I don't believe it."

"Weapon? What kind of weapon?"

"It's a code word we created to refer to monsters created in the lifestream. They were created centuries ago, when the planet faced threat of annihilation. That's what it said in Gast's report. Think of them like white blood cells… come to wipe out the threat to the ecosystem."

The young president of the world's largest energy corporation, responsible for the rape and overdraw of the planet's natural resources, looked into the winking reptilian orb and saw his reflection there. He stared it down, ice-blue glare meeting the monster.

It blinked first.

Scarlet chanced to glance behind her, and made a sound. One by one, they turned, realizing that a young man with a shock of wild hair had appeared in their midst. Rufus recognized him as a member of Avalanche, but he did not threaten the Shinra executives.

The boy seemed distracted, anxious, mentally unstable. He apologized to them—to his teammates, to the world, even to Rufus.

"This is where the Reunion will be… You should get out while you still can."

He turned to Professor Hojo. "Please… please professor, give me a number. Please, I want to be worthy. A number, a tattoo, like the rest of them. Please…" He begged.

Wary of the boy as they would be of a mad dog, the group gave him wide berth, but he did not seem to notice in his agony.

"Well at least that proves my theory about Jenova's Reunion." Hojo pushed his glasses back into place, their lenses gleaming. "Five years I've waited, and finally the Clones are returning. I expected them to gather at the Shinra Building, but obviously the nuclear body has moved from there."

Rufus frowned. "What?"

"You see, the alien parasite known as Jenova possesses a unique property; even when its body is dismembered, its pieces will always coalesce and rejoin, much like a sea-sponge. Years ago I hypothesized that even if cloned the genetic material from Jenova would begin to gravitate back towards its original source. It was a risk we ran, when we began the SOLDIER program. Here, we are beginning to see the results; and now I know where the Clones' final destination will be…"

The whole cave rumbled— the boy was pulled into the air like a metal filing to a magnet. High above the cave walls, he was caught in the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, supporting at their center a massive, looming clot of crystal.

"…Sephiroth."

The boy put his hand through the solid rock as if it had been water, depositing a coal-black sphere that seemed to suck the light out of the room.

"I want everyone to come with me. Back on the ship. This is about to get ugly." Rufus ordered, the steely words cutting through the din of the planet's pained and eerie wailing.


	11. Prey Drive

**Prey Drive**

The kingdom of Wutai was the only thing in the world that gave Heidegger nightmares. Having slogged through the insect-ridden tropical forest and barren plains of the southern-most continent under the command of General Catalonia Sr. in the first war, he'd grown to hate the very mention of the nation's name. He'd hated it when he was marching through the jungle trying to catch bugs and lizards for protein, he'd hated it when he'd been marooned there as an officer in the occupation, trading rations for local favors, and he hated it now, as the overseer of the whole damned, soggy reconstruction. Why the president hadn't just firebombed the place like he'd suggested and left it to rot was a mystery. That was the trouble with Shinra: it still thought like an electric company. It wanted to sell things to people, and it couldn't do that if its target demographic was picking bullet casings out of smoldering rubble.

Heidegger was feeling particularly sullen that afternoon. No one had heard his loud, dismissive laughter all day, and his face was contracted in a piggish scowl. The soldiers were taking it as an ill omen, and the nervous little lieutenant by his side was staining his collar with sweat. But luckily, the brigadier-general was in a rare and pensive mood; surly, but calm. He had more immersing matters at hand than the bullying of his subordinates.

"What am I looking at, Marks?" The immense man glowered, pointing above a sagging wooden doorpost of an herbal medicine shop.

"It's a bird, sir."

"What kind of bird?"

The lieutenant squinted. "A um, swallow, I think. A yellow swallow."

"Yes, that's what I thought." Heidegger lowered his arm and tucked it behind is back. "Now tell me, why are there yellow swallows painted over every other shop in this district? What do they mean?"

Lieutenant Marks shrugged and scratched his ear. "Traditional folk symbol, I guess. Maybe it's for some local holiday?"

The little split-tailed birds had been seen freshly stenciled in bright saffron above shops, houses, and shrines all over Wutai's capital city. There were headbands adorned with them, and occasionally, flags. Jinhquwan was literally peppered with them, but no one seemed able to answer how they'd gotten there.

"Hunt down a native and ask them, will you?" Heidegger tapped a riding crop against his boot irritably. "I want to know exactly what these pesky little sparrows are about. Break some fingers if you must.

Marks drew back. "Sir? Over a bit of regional graffiti?"

"The squinty scum can sell their paper lanterns with one hand as well as two!" The brigadier general turned his bulk and began to make his way to a waiting military jeep. "We found this symbol painted over the reactor that was sabotaged yesterday night. The man we captured had it stitched onto his armband…" His beard shook and bristled. "If this bird cropping up all over town is just a coincidence, I'll eat my hat!" The jeeps wheels compressed dangerously far to accommodate him as he hauled himself into the passenger's seat like a green-coated walrus. "Take your time about it, Marks. I won't be back to camp for the rest of the evening. That upstart new SOLDIER general and his _boy_ are bringing the whole board of directors to Wutai for a conference. I'll have my hands full."

Lieutenant Marks saluted as the squat vehicle disappeared down the main city road, its path soon obscured by clouds of dust made opaque by the late-afternoon sun filtering in over the shops and crowded tenant housing. Laundry lines and banners stretched between the buildings and hung into the street like colorful bunting. Unlike Midgar, the primary construction materials were wood and stone, and while a few balconies and red-tiled rooftops sported antenna cables and satellite dishes, the technology here was sparse.

_It's like living in the romantic past_, thought Marks fondly. He looked around him and took in the hand painted signage and carefully maintained old shop fronts. It was so pleasant and rural here; it was hard to imagine the citizens of Jinhgwan as being anything but peace-loving and simple folk, devoted to their quaint traditional arts and preserving family relations.

The houses in this district were tightly cramped one above the other, with little or no fresh air or sewage treatment, and of course, many, many Wutaens were poor; but surely, they weren't like the poor of Midgar. These people were content, and found satisfaction in hard work and perseverance. That's what he was comfortable imagining.

_They're just such a virtuous nation…_ Marks thought, saddened that his colleagues were not as enlightened as himself. _Like this woman here,_ he smiled to himself, spying a native coming down the road. _Now there's a mother who makes time for her children and doesn't have to lock the door at night._

Marks saw to his excitement that she was wearing a yellow armband emblazoned with a carefully stitched swallow. How lucky for him! He wouldn't need to go scouting for rebels after all, and there would be none of that awful torture business. Wutaens were so hospitable and friendly when you got to know them! He was ashamed that the director of public safety felt the need to be so harsh with them.

The woman was dressed in plain traditional blouse and trousers, her wide-legged pants much repaired, her ribbon-buttoned shirt all but colorless with age. She looked in her early thirties, but Wutaens were a slow-aging people. Her hair was tied back with a red scarf, typical of the region's farmers. Marks wondered what she was doing in the capital city, so far from the rice fields. As he came closer he saw that she was trying to unlock a door to a business with the same saffron-colored bird above it. She was in the process of knocking when she noticed him, and quickly withdrew her hand.

"Hello there!" He waved and jogged over to the native woman with a smile. To his embarrassment, she flinched and eyed his uniform, looking like she was about to run away.

"Oh no, no, ma'am, wait! I just want to ask you a few questions." He raised his hands in a gesture of amity. "Quest-ee-ons." He enunciated carefully for her benefit. Wutaens had their own language, Taiesan, which was notoriously difficult for Continentals to learn. There had been a time when the Western tongue had been forbidden in the capital, as a sign of its fierce national independence. But now of course, the natives all spoke reasonable Common. They had to, for the tourists, and negotiations with Shinra.

"Yes?" The woman winced, black eyes worried and distrustful. Her accent was thick but she seemed to understand. "What Shinra want to know?"

"Oh, I'm just curious! I just love Wutai so much, you know? It's so marvelous how you people haven't gotten caught up in all that modern…" he swirled his hands, "…_complexity_."

She stared at him, unblinking, her hand still on the latch of the door, holding it closed.

"Um… but, I'm really sort of new here, and I wanted to know a little bit about the local customs. It seems like there are a lot of these little yellow birds everywhere and I'm just wondering what they mean. Are they for a festival or… protective images, or a superstition or something?" He tried to seem as enthusiastic and open minded as possible.

The woman glanced through the fogged window of the storefront, eyes narrowing. "Shinra want to know about Golden Swallow?"

"Oh yes please, if you don't mind telling me. I understand if it's, you know, sacred or whatever." He wiggled his hands to show he was referring to anything mystical.

Her arms crossed. For a moment, Marks thought she would refuse to tell him, but her sharp eyes finally turned on him and she started speaking in a aggressive, off-tempo patter. "Golden Swallow is very old story, Shinra. When first water god, Great Leviathan is young, he create First Islands with his scales. Everything is very good and is start growing." She glanced cautiously through the window once more before continuing. "Water God is pleased, and so rest from make all First Islands and First People. Great Leviathan keep all powers in giant pearl, to make for safe until he need again. But when he is wake up- the pearl, _gone_." She made a sudden sharp gesture, which startled Marks. "An Ogre steal it, take it high, high up into scale-mountain, where Great Leviathan cannot reach. Ogre use powers for useless things; to admire and to make him seem strong and kingly like Leviathan, but he is create nothing."

"Oh, fascinating!" Marks listened with a rapt expression, hoping he seemed suitably entranced by the woman's native folklore.

"Quiet, Shinra." She snapped. "Ogre safe at top of mountain from Leviathan; but small Golden Swallow, very clever and quick, he is go to Ogre, dance quickly about head, peck his eyes, make him angry! Ogre swat at swallow, but swallow is fast and small— he miss, and fall down scale-mountain into sea, where Great Leviathan wrap around him five times, and crush head in teeth." The woman gave him a disturbingly satisfied look. "Golden Swallow take pearl off mountain, and all is good and full of sense again." She smiled at Marks, pointing above the doorpost over where they stood. "That Golden Swallow—the one who is return power to Great Leviathan, and First People."

"Oh I see, I see!" Lieutenant Marks exclaimed. "Well, what a pretty fairytale! So full of wonderful images." He shook his head. "I suppose you like to paint it around because of that awful ban on images of the Leviathan…"

The woman opened the door she'd been holding shut slowly. "Yes. Is good story. Since we can no more use pictures of Leviathan, Wutai is paint Swallow instead. Are just pictures. Shinra not understanding difference, so, is safe. Is just small, silly bird, yes? Come, come." She walked into the store, gesturing for him to follow. "Shinra should see more of Wutai culture."

"Oh, is this your store? How charming!" Marks ducked inside the darkened shop, trying not to seem too disparaged by the lack of furnishings or light. Perhaps she couldn't afford the amenities, poor thing. The rates that had been imposed on native Wutaens were absolutely brutal, it had to be said.

"Yes, charming." The woman said, as a wood plank came swinging out of nowhere, colliding with the back of Marks' skull.

Marks crumpled with a yelp, feeling blood run into his eyes. He reached for his weapon, dizzy from pain; but a second pair of hands grabbed his, twisting his arms behind his back as a firm pressure was put on the center of his spine. The room was suddenly flocked with cloth bands, worn by men and women, some teenagers, some even elderly, all marked with tiny, golden-winged birds. Their hands were full of weapons, both traditional and manufactured, guns and pikes. The woman from the street stood at the center, her stance firm, her black eyes full of scorn.

"We are the ones who will return power to the first people."

**...**

A small forest of thick, open binders encircled President Rufus Shinra, all displaying scrolling lists of figures; input, output, gross profit, marginal losses, the recent history of all of the money and human resources going into, and coming out of, Wutai.

He'd spent the last week getting the numbers combed smoothly into charts and breakdowns, a mathematical trail of breadcrumbs that led to a bear trap.

The glowing projection displayed as much to the board of directors. Palmer was absent, as the defunct Shinra Space Program would not be impacted in the slightest by policy changes in Wutai. As if to balance the disparity, Professor Hojo was in attendance, hunched vulture-like at the end of the conference table. It was apparent that he thought there was something about the scenario that might be beneficial to the Science Department. Rufus knew that in the Wutai Wars, prisoners and disenfranchised citizens had sometimes been used in unscrupulous experiments. The regular infantry had been taught that the Wutaens were subhuman; a backwards, primitive race that Shinra was helping out, bringing up to speed, modernizing, and educating. The fallout of those conflicts was still an ugly stain on Shinra's reputation, a skeleton in the closet that hadn't quite stopped kicking. Maybe the professor was hoping the result of today's meeting would provide him with a fresh source of test subjects; subjects whose absence would not be reported, and whose treatment would not be scrutinized by media watchdogs. Hojo's patient, opportunistic stare became particularly gruesome in this light. Rufus stared back at him icily, resolving to find an excuse to send the professor back to Midgar at the soonest opportunity.

"As you can see above, the continued military presence in Wutai is becoming nothing more than a millstone to the company; the numbers do not add up, no matter how you slice it." Rufus clicked button in his palm, switching the projection image to a new graph. "We can't keep up this occupation, it's as simple as that. Another course of action must be pursued immediately, if Shinra is to salvage operations in the East."

Heidegger slammed a fist onto the table with characteristic audacity. "Impossible!" He shouted, mustache bristling. "Absolutely impossible! How can you even _consider _pulling troops out of Wutai when just yesterday, our reactor construction was ruthlessly attacked by rebel forces! It's absurd to abandon the front now; it would be to surrender all our resources and erase the progress made in the last five years of conflict!"

Chief Engineer Scarlet looked aggressively bored, her lavish red silk outfit an obvious hint towards activities she'd rather be pursuing. Nevertheless, her loyalties were with Public Safety and Defense, and she lazily raised her manicured hand to show support. "I agree. It'd show weakness in a time when the public needs to see that Shinra is still in control. We've already suffered losses at the hands of Avalanche and traitors within SOLDIER." She cattily darted her eyes over the current commander. "Can we really afford to be so passive?"

"I understand your concerns, but frankly, the benefits of those last five years have been negligible." Rufus put his hands on the table calmly. "It's obvious we're not wanted here, and the costs of maintaining armed forces stationed so far from the Continent are substantial. My concerns about this are more than just financial…" He clicked forward another slide, this one picturing a blurry photograph taken from a high-vantage point. "These are images our satellites have picked up."

"The North Crater." Mumbled Professor Hojo, ominously quiet.

"What's _wrong_ with it?" drawled Scarlet, lowering her cigarette holder.

Rufus shook his head. "No one's sure yet. But it appears that there's some kind of force field over the whole crater. No organic material has managed to pass through it. Our sources seem to agree though…" he paused, trying not to make eye-contact with Treize. "This appears to be the work of Sephiroth, or the 'chosen one', or whatever he's going by since his reappearance."

The present SOLDIER general had so far remained silent and neutral through the presentation, but now a shadow passed over his handsome face.

Professor Hojo adjusted his glasses. "It's a _caul_." He made the diagnosis with a lilt of appreciation. "A sort of amniotic membrane over the whole mountain top. How interesting… he must be preparing for a metamorphosis of some kind."

"My point is—" Interjected Rufus, clapping a binder shut firmly, "What Shinra can't afford right now isn't the _appearance_ of weakness, but actual tactical disadvantage. We are spread very thin right now, trying to keep the Wutaens under control. In order to use the amount of force necessary to subdue them permanently, we would have damage our assets here along with the resistance. We're fighting a guerilla war on their turf; we have more resources, but they have time and territorial advantage. When High Priestess Izayoi surrendered to Shinra in the last conflict, it was to her benefit, not ours."

Across the table, General Trieze rested thumb and forefinger on his lips, hiding a satisfied grin. Rufus was going over the points they'd discussed with his own brand of ruthless clarity. It was more than gratifying to watch- It was just shy of arousing.

"So, here's my proposal." Rufus continued, clicking to one final screen. "Wutai is to be given total independence. We pull out, leave the reactor, and let them sort out the pieces."

Heidegger bristled and flushed, looking ready to explode with another flurry of objections, but Rufus rushed ahead to his next point. "We're going to allow them a subsidiary branch of Shinra Electric. They'll manage their reactor independently and the power they generate will be theirs to do with as they please."

This caused a wave of murmurings, low-key outrage and doubt bubbling across the room. Rufus rapped on the desk again to regain attention. "Think about it. Wutai is a rural, agricultural nation. They have exactly zero industrial capital except for what we provided them with. Without Shinra's supplies, they'll be dead in the water."

"Won't they just destroy the reactor and go back to their primitive little huts and snake-worshiping?" Heidegger scoffed, clearly skeptical that the president's plan was going to live to see the light of day. "They're a simple, backwards people, Mr. President. They've sat on all this Mako for decades without so much as considering its possible uses; their religion even forbids it!"

Rufus rolled his eyes lazily. "Heidegger, if ever there was a more backwards, outdated viewpoint than the one you just espoused, I've never heard it. Of _course_ they won't destroy the reactor!" he continued levelly; "The only reason the resistance is attacking is because they object to _foreign rule_. If we gave the reactor to them in good faith, they'd have every reason to use it. The anti-Mako religious fanatics in this country are a minority population; the rest of public has moved on." The president gestured out a window. "Look around—the tourist hotels here come equipped with plasma screen TVs and hot tubs. Even the street vendors have cell phones! The royal family is in a position to ease the lives of their countrymen by a huge margin if they normalize Mako power, and they know it. But since they themselves lack the industrial capital, there's only one thing they can do to get it..."

"Buy it from Shinra." Scarlet mused, lifting an exquisitely penciled eyebrow. "Well, that makes sense." Her mind turned to the possibilities of a new market for her department's developments.

"Exactly." Rufus shut off the projector screen. "We can still make a mint off this island, but only if we put our best foot forward here."

"Pardon me, Mr. President…" The metered voice of SOLDIER interjected. "With respect, these people have suffered enormously over the last decade because of Shinra's excesses. Even with such an accommodating plan, I imagine the Wutaens will be wary to accept it. They may even continue the hostilities, unless you offer them a more substantial token of apology."

Rufus tilted his head with a thin, humoring smile. "Well, I'm glad to hear your opinion on the matter, General Khushrenada. You studied here in Wutai, didn't you? Under Sephiroth?" He left the emphasis hang in the air, awaiting interpretation.

"Indeed I did." Treize said with only a hint of amusement. "He taught me nearly everything I know about subduing aggressive and proud opponents."

The president's eyes narrowed, glittering. "What would you suggest?"

"The people should see those they see as their enemy making a symbolic concession to their new authority, wouldn't you agree?" Treize folded his hands mildly. "Perhaps someone who has, up until now, been seen as a threat and an oppressor could make a public appearance before the royal family, as an act of reconciliation."

The board shifted uncomfortably, wondering who might be appointed to the task. Rufus waited, knowing what was to follow.

"Heidegger, perhaps?" Treize managed to look coy while delivering the sentence.

Both the Director of Public Safety and Defense and his collaborator, Chief Engineer Scarlet bolted upright in alarm. "What?" Heidegger rose so fast his chair fell over backwards. "How dare you-? President Shinra, since when does SOLDIER have any authority over my department?"

Treize did not even spare the director a side-glance.

"Heidegger, control yourself." Rufus said coolly. "General Khushrenada has a point. Someone has to carry the flag to Wutai... someone charismatic and convincing." He turned his eyes to the ceiling, arms crossed. "…Someone familiar with the goals of this small, vibrant nation, someone who is easy to trust..." His pale eyes flickered over Treize. "Why don't you _both_ go?"

If Treize was surprised by this suggestion, he did not allow it to show outside of a slight tensing of his mouth.

_Let's see how you handle a curve ball, general._ Rufus thought smugly.

**...**

"You possess a genuine talent for subjugation, sir."

Treize lingered at the threshold of the conference room, arms folded and back propped against the wall, his cape hanging in heavy folds from one shoulder.

Rufus shot him a vulpine grin. "Why thank you, general."

"Allowing local monarchy and custom to continue to exist under the umbrella of empire is a time honored tradition. Granting Wutai independence from your rule will give them a sense of security, and without an obvious military presence to stir up resentment, there's a good chance that they'll even come to love you as their benefactor." He pushed off the wall and made his way towards the table where Rufus was folding his presentation materials. "It's very clever."

Rufus ignored him, smirking silently until a gloved hand intruded into his field of vision to shut a binder closed with a snap.

"Did you plan on sending me from the onset?" Treize was staring at him.

"Well, I couldn't just let you have your whole way without some consequence, could I? It might go to your head." The Shinra heir brushed past him, aloof as a prim white cat. "Hopefully you'll use this as an opportunity to make sure the job gets done correctly."

"If this goes wrong, you want to make it look as though I personally murdered Heidegger. It will give you a convenient alibi later when you want to dispose of _me_, if the Resistance doesn't do it first."

"Is that a problem, Treize?" Rufus swiveled on his heel, staring the taller man down. "I thought you liked high stakes games? It's your career against mine, and may the best man win."

"My dear president, if you want to bring this to a head now, I'm all yours. But keep in mind that you'll need someone to fill Heidegger's shoes when he is gone."

Rufus snorted. "You're assuming I'm going to let you take the position?"

"Who else is qualified?" Treize said with a note of challenge. "Unless you plan on giving it to Scarlet."

The tension between them seemed audible in the hum of neon lights.

"If you can pull this off without implicating yourself or me, then the job is yours." The Shinra Company president said sharply, breaking the silence. "Get me results, and I'll make it worth your while."

Treize made a slight bow.

**...**

Sunset splashed over the Dao Chao mountain shrine like a wash of fresh blood. The gods carved on the cliff face loomed grotesque and ostentatious, their round eyes bulging with accusation. The sight made Heidegger's throat dry.

"I don't know what that _boy_ is trying to prove." He growled, returning to the lead car in his transport fleet. Scarlet sauntered around to the far side and undulated into the passenger's seat, arranging her silk-draped curves just so.

"Which 'boy', Rufus or Treize?" She said with obvious scorn. "Because, sweetie, you're kidding yourself if you think they're not _both_ out to get you. The president just wants to intimidate someone, but that SOLDIER upstart… he's out for blood." A smoke ring curled and broke onto the ceiling in an expanding ripple.

"Don't call me sweetie." Heidegger's brow furrowed massively, waving his hand to clear the air. "I'm tired of that smug fairy stepping on my heels… He climbs faster than a capparwire weed, but I'll be damned if I let him get comfortable ordering me around! I wish I could wring his scrawny, boy-scout neck..."

Scarlet purred. "You may have to, honey, if you want to survive. I have some very reliable sources that tell me he wants you out of the picture." She licked her plump red lips. "You know, I like the idea of you putting the pretty Romafellor brat in his place…"

"Gyahahahaa!" Heidegger cackled abruptly. "What exactly are you suggesting, Chief Engineer? Should I bend him over my knee and remind him who's in command?"

"Don't go barking like that, I'm being serious. I'm suggesting you get him before he gets you…" She inclined towards the brigadier-general, keeping her tone confidential. "The SOLDIER general is supposed to support you when you go to make a formal apology and welcoming speech in front of that teenage emperor brat, right?"

"Yes, the president wants me to grovel for dragging the lazy yellow bastards into the modern world. What absolute rubbish." He spat.

"Well, what would happen if he never showed up to the speech? What if, on the eve of Shinra's departure from Wutai, our brave military commander was to be assassinated by rebel insurgents?"

Heidegger's voice lowered to a sultry rumble. "Why, the peace-negotiations would have to be postponed indefinitely… we'd be forced to keep troops in the capital—maybe even increase them."

"And the SOLDIER program…?" Scarlet cooed.

"Would be under new management." Heidegger chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "What a splendid notion, Scarlet! But won't the president suspect foul play?"

The voluptuous executive cracked her knuckles. "Don't worry about it. No one's going to argue if he turns up full of throwing-needles and hanging outside the mako reactor come sunrise. Even if Rufus suspects you, how will he prove it? The Wutaens don't know about the peace negotiations yet, and they have every reason to want to thin our ranks. Besides…if anyone understands the law of the jungle, it's the president."

"Scarlet, you beautiful viper! Where would I be without you?"

She clicked her teeth around her cigarette holder, expelling a plume of perfume-laced smoke. "Six feet under, sugar, and don't you forget it."

**...**

Wutai nights were never silent; they chirped and rustled, filled with the liquid music of streams and insects in lacquer cages. Small chiming bells hung from doorframes for luck, and the creak of wooden beams and floorboards remained quietly constant.

This city was not like Midgar; it went to bed with the sun. The only lights and activity belonged to attractions that were left to tourists, and men and women of dubious occupation. Shinra had set a curfew on natural citizens of Wutai many years ago that was still more or less strictly enforced, depending on the leniency of the watchmen. Those who did wander the streets at night were generally Continentals who'd had too much to drink and were shuffling back to their lodgings.

One such midnight-reveler was beginning to meander down the main boulevard, softly singing patchy verses of a trendy radio hit as she went. She was blonde, tall, and modestly attractive, with her hair twisted into two plaits that hung around her shoulders. She caught the attention of two Shinra guards on night watch as she stumbled. They exchanged knowing glances before trotting out to intercept the young and obviously intoxicated woman.

"Woaaah, hey where d'you think you're going, shoe? Hahahaha!" She tripped and fumbled with her sandal, amused by her own clumsiness.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you on your way back home?" Asked one guard with polite firmness. "We're encouraging all travelers to get off the road after sundown. There's been an increase in suspicious activity around here."

The woman giggled, unsteady on her feet. "I know, I know- I'm just trying to find my dumb hotel! I can't ever keep track of the street names here. Everything sounds the same in Wutai, like… like monkeys chattering." She slurred. "I wish they'd post the signs in Common, y'know?"

"Can you tell us the name of the hotel you're staying at, ma'am?" The second guard inquired gently. "We can escort you back, if you'd like."

"That'sso sweet! You boyssare great, really but you don't need to bother. It's like… the Radiant Crescent Palace or something." She hiccupped and excused herself. "Oh… damnit I think I lost my keys somewhere." She fumbled in her pockets. "Sorry, you have _no_ idea how drunk I am right now. It's ridiculous."

"I know where that is. That's the one that's booked up for the Shinra conference. Are you sure that's the one?"

The woman wobbled and looked up at the moon. "Oooh! Thatsswhy it was so expensive. They only had the one room left in the—" She hiccupped, "-whole building! The only reason I got it was because I booked it for my vacation over a month ago!"

With her golden haired and flower blue eyes, she looked the antithesis of most native Wutaens. Her guards accompanied her down the main boulevard, catching her when she stumbled and chuckling with her when she laughed at her awkwardness. The plaza that housed the Radiant Crescent Palace and its surrounding entourage of restaurants, stables, garages, bathhouses, and casinos was wide beautifully landscaped. It was obviously designed as a tourist resort.

"My name's Sally, by the way." The young woman smiled kindly. "Thanks so much for getting me this far."

"No trouble, ma'am. We like to help out when we can." The shorter of the two guards grinned, charmed by the woman's infectious good cheer. "Where are you from?"

Sally tossed her head and laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Hey- could you do me a favor? Could you buzz the front desk for me so I can get in? I really can't find my keys."

"Ah—you know, we're patrolling here in the morning anyway, so I've got a set here. I'll just let you in."

"Aaww, I really can't believe how nice you're being. Such gentlemen, both of you."

The guards blushed under their helmets and unlocked the back entrance to the hotel without hesitation and held the door for their pretty companion. "There you go miss. Have a nice night!"

The woman propped the door open with one heel and blew a kiss to her admiring escorts. "You too."

In an instant, the blade of her hand connected with the underside of the short guard's jaw. Before the second could move or even raise alarm, a sharp pain at the base of his skull flashed red in his vision, then, as if a light switch to his brain had been abruptly flipped, he slid to the ground insensible.

"Sorry." The golden-haired women muttered, tugging one body at a time into the hallway. It wasn't much better than leaving them in the open, but at least the patrols were less frequent on the inside of the hotel than they were along the grounds. She checked her watch and glanced towards the ill-placed security cameras that had made this risky procedure possible from the south entrance. No alarms had been triggered. Fixing her conspicuously touristy blouse, she made her way up the three flights of stairs to the next checkpoint. If operations were running smoothly, the janitor's closet would contain a duffel bag with everything she would need for the next half hour.

A black suit of noiseless fabric quickly replaced her civilian clothes. Her golden twists of hair disappeared into featureless cap, and her blue eyes—so distinctive of Continental heritage, vanished behind a sleek pair of sunglasses.

Her mixed ancestry had been put to very good use over the last several years. The resistance needed to have ears and eyes in places where only those privileged with pale eyes and hair could get. It was almost laughable how quickly people from Shinra assumed she must be one of them. To those at the top of the social hierarchy, it seemed her identity, her culture, her past, were all only skin deep.

The palace's design was deliberately exaggerated to appeal to Westerners' sense of the exotic. Red woods carved into elaborate knots and lacquer inlays had been cheaply recreated; copied and reproduced in warehouses, worked on by small hands that labored from morning till dusk without seeing the sun. Dyed silk, once an expensive commodity, lined each wall for the casual pleasure of those who had no conception of the time and extensive processes required for each sheet. Maybe this was the way of the world—maybe the gradual cheapening of human effort and the lack of respect for individual rights was simply the cost of the future. But she didn't have to accept that eventuality without a fight.

Any Shinra dead on Wutai soil was a victory, but the ground troops and minor officials seemed as numerous as ants, and for every one killed, a swarm of others replaced it. However, this time was different; this was some upheaval within the Shinra hierarchy itself, and the result of tonight's work would reverberate all the way up to the top of the ladder. What the repercussions would be to Wutai were another matter; Sally did not particularly care what her client's reasons were for wanting to assassinate another card-carrying member of the Shinra elite, but there was a chance it would lead to another open war with Shinra, and that was not something her country could afford. That was why she had hoped to gain more intelligence on the matter before acting, but time was limited, and this might be the resistance's only chance to eliminate a top Shinra official. She was going to have to get inventive.

Room 313 waited at the end of the darkened hallway. Sally checked her watch again; ten seconds to go. She held her breath, and when the count was finished she rushed forward, feet padding quietly on the thick plush carpet. The cameras were down- she had just enough time to slide a replica passcard into the lock, slip inside, and shut the door behind her. The lapse in visuals would be too short to cause alarm; at least, that was the theory. She still waited to breathe until several more seconds had passed, waiting for sirens to alert everyone on the premises to her failed mission… Finally she exhaled.

The chamber was unlit, with a small foyer leading past a washroom and living room. Her entrance had been silent, and with no movement or noise from within, Sally crept forward. Her target had left his jacket folded over a chair, all gold epaulettes and indigo wool.

A large window had been left open a crack, admitting a warm southern breeze and faint silver light from the high full moon. She drew out a needle from her belt carefully; tomorrow, her target's autopsy would reveal a particularly potent toxin, unique to the Kaikichu insects found on the Dao Chao cliffs. It was a favorite amongst the hidden warriors of Wutai's ancient past, for it paralyzed opponents completely before slowly hardening their lungs and heart into useless cakes of tissue. There was a fair amount of time between the initial sting and the victim's death; time enough to administer the antidote. In Sally's case, this time would be spent determining whether or not the SOLDIER General's death would cause substantive harm to the resistance.

Creeping forward, back to the wall, she entered the bedroom, scanning the chamber carefully before setting foot inside. Her sunglasses were fitted with lenses cut and ground from materia, allowing her to see perfectly in the dark. She could see the supine contours of a sleeping body in the bed before her, but she did not attack. She lowered her body to the floor and got as close to the bed as possible.

But he was not there. The bed was empty. She'd nearly fallen for the oldest parlor trick in the book. Luckily the venom in her needle had not been wasted on a feather down pillow, but where in the twelve hells was the general?

A sharp, cold edge under Sally's jaw answered her question.

"You're not the only one who can see in the dark." Said a deep voice behind her, speaking in passable Taiesan.

She didn't answer. She needed only one shot, and she took it, flicking the needle backwards towards the man's thigh. He was quick—a First Class SOLDIER, after all, but his hand closed around hers a fraction of a second too late. The tip of the needle just pushed through the thin white fabric of his slacks, scratching his skin. It was not the full dose, but it would be enough to slow down even a large opponent.

The general gasped, jerking backwards. Sally pushed him towards the window and leapt neatly onto the bed frame, balancing with the ease of an acrobat. He'd been holding her hostage with a simple shaving razor, she noted with some amusement.

"Weirding toxin. Ah." He pressed his hand against the flesh of his leg, blanching considerably. "How… appropriate." Sally watched from her perch as he stumbled, grimacing, and crumpled to one knee, laboring to breathe.

"You're General Treize Khushrenada?" She asked in her native tongue.

"I am, (humbly)." He answered with considerable linguistic formality. "And (respectfully) you are…if I may guess, part of the Golden Swallow Resistance group?" His Taiesan wasn't bad; it was accented, and overly academic, which accounted for the excessive use of honorifics. Still, he was the only outsider she'd heard who spoke it fluently, and it stood out to her as impressive.

"My name is Sally Poe. If you live, it will be because you have no reason to condemn me. If not, then it will be of no consequence. I have questions for you, and an antidote. I suggest you answer quickly."

From the floor, the man nodded haltingly. He was beginning to slump, his hands and feet sliding numbly under him; he couldn't escape now if he wanted to.

Sally asked her first question: "How much do you know of the Golden Swallow Resistance?"

"Only that they are anti-Shinra partisans fighting for Wutaen independence. They are presumed to be responsible for the attack on the new reactor construction. We do not know where they are based, nor who, if anyone, is their leader." Treize answered. "It's named after the legend of Great Leviathan and the Ogre, is it not?"

"Don't waste time." She snapped, though she was secretly impressed that he'd known about the group's origins. "How many Shinra officials are here? What is the purpose of your meeting?"

The man's eyes fluttered, either because he was in pain or about to lie. Sally watched closely, prepared to administer a second dose if his honesty was in question.

"…Three… Heidegger, Scarlet, and myself." He swallowed. "Rufus Shinra… was in attendance. Along with Hojo, but both departed for Midgar earlier today. Our purpose…" His jaw clenched. Sally wondered if he still had any feeling in his face. If he didn't, their conversation would become farcical very quickly.

"Our purpose is to discuss Shinra's continued occupation of Wutai and the reconstruction of the Jinhgwan reactor. Heidegger is in favor of full-scale invasion; he is to meet with the royal family tomorrow in order to negotiate the terms of their deposition. I oppose him."

"That sounds like something a man desperate to save his own life might say." Said Sally with a hint of amusement. "Why do you oppose Heidegger? Aren't you part of Shinra's military?"

"I am…" He inhaled laboriously. Unable to lift his head, his eyes flicked upwards to look at her. "But I represent a new order in Shinra. I studied in Wutai. I have a fondness for your culture and a profound dislike of the occupational forces' barbarism. I came close to changing the president's mind on the matter, but I was outranked."

"Is Heidegger particularly well liked in your 'new order'?" Sally dropped down from her perch, already knowing the answer.

"He is a ruthless, complacent, pandering fool who sacrificed an entire city sector to crush one small rebellion. So, no." He enunciated slowly, fighting the mounting influence of the poison.

"Interesting." She lifted the man's chin with one hand. His vivid eyes were dilated evenly, and his pulse was just shy of normal. The general's metabolism was giving the toxin a real run for its money. "How much can you move?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I can't actually tell. Is my hand raised?"

"A little."

"There's your answer."

Sally grinned despite herself. "You're in SOLDIER. I expect that the effects will wear off pretty soon. Give yourself a day to recover." She rolled up one of his sleeves and pressed a syringe needle gently into the vein at the crook of his arm, keeping a firm grip on his bicep in place of a tourniquet. "There. All done."

"For an assassin, you have terrific bedside manner." Treize quipped, clumsily inspecting his arm.

She almost laughed. "I was a doctor in the war. Old habits die hard." The window provided her with a convenient exit, and after a quick climb down, the darkness covered her getaway completely.

**...**

The attack came just before dawn. All over the capital the night watch was yawning, turning over their guard to the next shift, pouring coffee or getting ready to sleep. They were overwhelmed almost immediately.

From the roofs of temples and apartments rained down volleys of gunfire; smoke and shrapnel grenades landed amidst clusters of Shinra vehicles; troop transporters' tires were slashed and the gas tanks punctured; in the main city square, Heidegger's men found themselves harried and felled by an unseen sharpshooter, roosting somewhere above the city's center.  
From alleys and cellars, houses and stores came a flood of armed citizens. Some were past veterans, some were young and some were old, some were recognizable as merchants or guides. All wore tatters of armbands, saffron yellow and emblazoned with the image of a flying, split-tailed bird.

Vendor's carts became barricades and soon the streets of Jinhgwan were entrenched in every kind of makeshift warfare; blood flowed into Wutai's gutters, though not as much as would have, if Shinra had had time to mobilize its forces. Caught off guard, there was more chaos than outright fatalities.

Amid the smoke and shouting, a partition of 3rd to 2nd class SOLDIERS came swiftly to heel around Brigadier-General Heidegger, ready to conduct him from the now-compromised hotel to the more formidably barricaded military base.

"Preparing your escort, sir. There's an armored van waiting out front—please stay within the convoy and move quickly. Sections one and two, ready for departure." Radio static crackled, stern faces under helmets sweated.  
Heidegger wore his scowl a little more nervously than usual, though the insurgents could not have picked a more convenient time to attack according to his plans. All he had to do was make it to the safety of the barracks, and tomorrow he could order an airstrike of the whole stinking province and watch the whole thing from the comfort of his suites in Midgar. Scarlett had really come through for him this time, he thought. _Wonder what the little minx is going to want in return…_

` The SOLDIER squad hustled him down three flights of stairs, all code words and frantic breathing. They were interrupted on the second floor due to an explosion that shook the foundations of the hotel itself, sending dust and splinters in cascades from the ceiling.

"Bloody hell…" Heidegger shook himself. "How did the little shits get hold of so many explosives?"

"Don't know sir. This is as much a surprise to us as it is to you. Keep moving."

The smell of fire and gunpowder was strong, and the screams and gunshots and sirens could be heard from outside now. The brigadier-general moped his brow, almost stumbling down the last of the steps to the ground floor. They had just stepped foot onto the patio when another explosion went off—this time from behind them, near enough that shockwave sent Heidegger sprawling onto the lawn.

His ears rang, temporarily deafened. As he staggered to his feet he saw his convoy scattered and bloodied; the van they had put their faith in, his ticket to safety and victory, lay useless on its side, the driver dead.

Heidegger felt dampness at his temples, but could feel no pain, only dizziness.

As his hearing returned gradually he was aware that the sounds of battle were much closer than before. He had to find shelter, find his Shinra troops, make it to safety before the howling native terrorists got to him and tore him limb from limb…

Hauling his suddenly inconvenient bulk down a narrow street, he could see in the light of the early dawn, Shinra transport cars parked in a defensive formation in the distance. If he could just make it there…

"Commander!" A voice called from behind him. Heidegger turned around, relieved to see a three-lensed SOLDIER helmet, it's neon blue markings denoting a high-ranking Deep Ground operative.

His relief was short lived, as a gun barrel leveled itself with his eyes.

"I had family in Sector 7, you monster." Said Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell Andras, as he pulled the trigger.


End file.
